#౨ৎ﹒ノ﹒lividstar．

[lividstar]

🎞️ — ♡ BULLSEYE!

៚ wc: 35.9k

៚ fluff, angst, student athlete!wooyoung x photojournalist!reader, enemies to lovers, hurt -> comfort, you’re both in love and everyone knows except for you yourselves, zb1 cameo

៚ playlist !

៚ Being part of your university’s journalism publication as the head photojournalist has its own ups and downs. The pros are having the right to roam around campus freely even when there’s no reason to do so—you could just come up with an excuse and say you were exploring the halls for some sort of documentation project, being able to express your passion for photography for a good cause, and your duties demanding you to technically be work partners with your best friend, Yeosang, who belongs to the sportswriting column. You mainly experience the highs of it, though on some days, however, you find yourself wishing you had just chosen a different profession instead. Caused by what—or who, rather, might you ask? Well, that’s none other than the so-called star football athlete Jung Wooyoung. His carefree demeanor and reckless actions irk you to no end, leading you to always involuntarily playing an escape game against him every single day inside the school buildings. Too bad your duties will never allow him to be completely out of sight, though.

Furious.

You were absolutely furious.

The campus buzzed with the energy of yet another eventful day as you navigated the crowded halls, your camera slung over your shoulder with a scowl on your face. A group of friends slash through the crowd, huge smiles on their faces as they chase each other, the sound of their shoes squeaking due to the newly waxed tiled floors making your ears bleed. The one at the very last of the line—you could only assume they were playing a game of tag and he was “it”—accidentally bumps his shoulder against yours as you walk, and you look behind your back at him with an offended expression, but all you were met with was the sight of the boy continuing to run, not even sparing a glance at you.

What a great way to make your day even worse, isn’t it?

As the head photojournalist for your university’s journalism publication, you had grown accustomed to the ebb and flow of student life, capturing moments that told the story of your school with a discerning eye. From documenting large occasions like various extracurricular activities to taking snaps of the rare quiet moments you treasure like a diamond such as coming up to the highest floor to capture photographs of the university’s building as the golden hour paints a warm hue all over it while students leave the campus one by one, progressively making your surroundings more silent as the minutes pass—you cherished it all.

Your favorite part of being a photojournalist is the moments when you’re snuggled up in your bed, continuously clicking the next button of your camera while checking the photos in its files—a few of them being ones you don’t quite remember taking—and stumbling upon photoshoots that capture the emotion of happiness conveyed all over people’s faces. You find comfort in the fact that you’re able to capture what could only possibly be their favorite memory to look back to every once in a while in the future.

Today, however, that sense of purpose was clouded by a sense of dread. You had been assigned to cover the football team’s practice for an upcoming sports article of Yeosang on the daily lives of student athletes. It was a topic that always garnered interest, especially with the team's recent winning streak. But for you, it meant spending time around Jung Wooyoung and his friends—the embodiment of every single trait you couldn’t stand in people.

Your journalism advisor, Mr. Kim, had been insistent. “We need fresh, dynamic shots for this article. The football team is perfect for that. You’re the best we have—quite literally the only one, so I’m counting on you.”

Well, of course. Your publication is short of a few people as the majority don’t quite seem to find the duties of being a journalist to be an essential part of making their college lives memorable. They like what you do, but the idea of being put in your position? Not so much.

You nodded, masking your irritation with a professional demeanor. “Of course, Mr. Kim,” you had said, though deep inside, you were fuming. There were a million other things you’d rather be doing than spending your afternoon with a bunch of overgrown children who thought they ruled the school.

As you made your way to the field, each step felt heavier than the last. The crisp autumn air did little to lighten your mood. The scent of freshly cut grass and the distant shouts and laughter of athletes warming up only served to remind you of where you were headed and who you would be dealing with.

You spotted the team easily, their figures a blur of motion and color against the green expanse of the field. At the center of it all was Jung Wooyoung, the star athlete whose charisma and energy seemed to draw everyone in. His presence is impossible to ignore—you have to admit, yet not in a good way. He’s loud, rowdy, and always the center of attention. He was everything you typically found irritating in a person, and you already had plenty of reasons to dislike him. And you think that even if you didn’t, you’d still hate him just as much.

Adjusting the settings on your camera, you positioned yourself by the sidelines, focusing the lens on the players. Through the viewfinder, you watched as their captain, Kim Hongjoong, led the team in a series of drills, his voice ringing out with commands and encouragement. It was clear that these guys lived and breathed football, and while it may be impressive, it still doesn’t change the fact that they’re a constant source of annoyance.

You snapped a few shots, capturing the intensity of the practice, the sweat and determination etched on each player's face. Each click of the shutter was a reminder of how much you resented this assignment. Why did it always have to be them? Why not cover something, anything, else? The theater kids would’ve been much more worth your time, you think, even if they’re just as rowdy as the football team. The only difference is they don’t have someone like Wooyoung.

Lost in your work, you almost didn’t notice when the practice session ended, the players breaking off into small groups to cool down. Wooyoung, ever the social butterfly, was in the midst of a lively conversation with his teammates when his eyes met yours. A grin spread across his face as he jogged over, his energy undiminished despite the rigorous practice.

Oh, for heaven’s sake.

“Hey, photo girl!” he called out, his voice carrying easily across the field. “Getting some good shots?”

Photo girl? You grimace, judging him heavily inside your head. You lowered your camera, looking up at him from where you sat with a steady, unimpressed gaze.

“Just doing my job,” you replied, your tone professional but laced with an edge of irritation in hopes of him noticing your need to be left alone. But then again, you can’t be foolish enough to actually expect him to know how to read the room now, can you? Or maybe he does, yet simply doesn’t bother to do so.

Wooyoung’s grin doesn’t falter. “Well, make sure you get my good side,” he said with a wink, pointing finger guns at you.

You nearly roll your eyes, your expression remaining stoic. “I’ll see what I can do.”

As Wooyoung rejoined his teammates, you turned back to your camera, trying to ignore the lingering annoyance. This was just another assignment, another day in the life of a university photojournalist. You didn’t have to like it, and you certainly didn’t have to like them. All you had to do was get the shots, get out, and hope you won’t have to be in the same space as them again any time in the future.

As Wooyoung rejoined his teammates, a chorus of teasing comments greeted him. Seonghwa was the first to speak up, a teasing grin on his face.

“What?”

“Didn’t know you had a thing for stoic girls who look like they could ruin your life.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, laughing it off. “Please, I’d never date a girl like that. I like those who can match my energy.”

“Wow, that’s boring,” Jongho chimed in, shaking his head. “You’re so old school, Woo. It’s the 21st century!” Everyone proceeded to laugh at Jongho’s comment, making Wooyoung land a hard hit on his shoulder.

He meant it, really. Wooyoung was well aware of the way students all over the campus describe his persona—at first, he thought the adjectives they always used whenever he was the topic brought to their table were absolutely stupidly inaccurate, but in a way, after a long while of getting used to being in the very center of the spotlight, he had started to embody the traits people paint on him—no one told him to do so, though. He just felt like he had to twist and turn himself to fit their ideals, is all. Now, he’s widely known as a carefree person who doesn’t care about whatever goes on in his life—well, he used to. Just way before people started thinking they knew him better than himself to make up their own idealized versions of him in their head, at least.

The laughter then died down, and for a moment, Yunho looked thoughtful for a moment before adding, “I don’t get your issue, Woo. She’s actually really pretty. I see her taking documentations of everything that happens on campus all the time.”

Wooyoung shrugged, brushing off the comment. “I never said anything about her not looking good. She’s just… not my type, is all,” he immediately replied smugly, yet his confusion with himself appeared just as quick. For what reason did he have to hesitate with saying that?

At this, Mingi sensed an opportunity to push Wooyoung’s buttons, jumping in with a teasing smirk. “Please, like you’re her type. I bet she doesn’t like you just as much.”

Laughter erupted from the group once more, and Wooyoung couldn’t help but join in, though he shot Mingi a glare. “Hey, I’m pretty sure I’m everyone’s type,” he said with profound confidence, making everyone sigh.

“And by everyone you mean that creepy old lady in the cafeteria as well?”

“Gross!”

“Seriously though,” Yunho continued, “she’s really cool. She always seems so focused and serious no matter what she does—like she can easily adapt to her surroundings.”

“What do you mean by that?” Wooyoung asked, tilting his head.

“She’s one of the top students as well, remember? I don’t know how she balances her studies and duties, but it seems like she does it with such ease. It’s kind of impressive, especially to someone like me who doesn’t know how to breathe in an air that doesn’t reek of my sport.”

Jongho nodded in agreement. “Yeah, she’s got this whole mysterious vibe going on. People like that are like rare gems these days—not to mention, in this university. It’s different.”

“Different is one way to put it,” Wooyoung said, shaking his head. “She looks like she’d tear apart anyone who dares to get in her way.”

San smirked, nudging Wooyoung. “Maybe that’s what you need, someone to keep you and your tendencies of being a brainless prick even during the times you need to get yourself together on check.”

Wooyoung scoffed, “Nah, I’m good. Besides, she clearly doesn't like us. Did you see the way she looked at me earlier? It was like I was some kind of pest. Not even just earlier—all the time. I don’t get what her deal is.”

“Can you blame her?” Seonghwa shrugged. “You did interrupt her work. I’d be mad, too.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not like she’s all sunshine and rainbows either,” Wooyoung countered. “I mean, she barely even smiles—scratch that, she never does!”

“Maybe she just needs a reason to smile,” Yunho suggested, giving Wooyoung a pointed look.

“Oh, here we go,” Wooyoung groaned, rolling his eyes. “I’m not some knight in shining armor who’s going to make her see the bright side of life. She’s not interested, and neither am I. Why are we even talking about this?”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” San said with a chuckle. “But don’t be surprised if she starts showing up in your thoughts more often.”

Wooyoung laughed it off, shaking his head. “Trust me, I’m not interested. I’ve got enough on my plate with football and classes I’m barely even passing.”

He said with such confidence, yet did so while keeping his focus on your blurred figure in his peripheral vision.

From where you sat by the bleachers, you could see the expressions on their faces—everyone had a wide smile on their lips, whereas Wooyoung was frowning. You don’t have a single idea of what topic they could possibly be discussing, but somehow, the look on Wooyoung’s face brought you a sense of satisfaction. Regardless of what they were talking about, if it was pissing off Wooyoung a massive amount, then you definitely have to thank whoever uttered out the first word that started the conversation.

You figured you’ve taken more than enough shots for your publication’s article already, and it doesn’t look like they’re going to start a practice match once more any time soon, either, so you start tidying your things up, placing a hand on your knee for support as you stand up. A gust of wind passes by, and a few strands of your hair cover your face. You tuck them behind your air, immediately making your way outside the field, grateful that your suffering will finally come to an end.

Making your way towards the school gates, you spot Yeosang waiting for you at a nearby bench, his eyes lightening up the moment he notices you walking towards him. He stood up, and as you got closer, the image of the frown you held became clearer to him.

“Didn’t go well, I assume?” he asked, taking your bag off your shoulder and slinging it on his as you both walked out side by side.

“Well, it could’ve, had Mr. Star Of The Show not interrupted me in the middle of checking my shots.” You roll your eyes, and a sigh comes soon after. “Seriously, who the hell does finger guns these days? That has to be the biggest sin one could ever commit.”

“It’s Wooyoung again, huh?” he mused, seemingly more used to the star athlete’s antics than you are. “Well, the fact that he embodies the stereotype of a typical jock should’ve been enough to tell you that he’d be that type of person.” Yeosang shrugged.

“I don’t even know what to expect from him and his friends anymore. They never fail to surprise me—and I mean that in a bad way.” You take the lace of the camera off your neck, giving it to Yeosang so he could check the shots you had taken.

“For someone who claims to hate the football team, your shots have turned out to be really good,” he said while looking through the photos, stopping at a particular image of San’s foot up in the air with the ball right at the tip of his shoe. “This one’s my personal favorite so far.”

“Professionalism is a crucial tactic in journalism,” you replied, clasping your hands together. “There’s no way I’ll ever let my personal feelings get in the way of my duties.”

“You say that, but I know that deep inside, you wanted to lash out at Mr. Kim earlier for personally picking you to be the football team’s official photographer,” he teased.

“I am not their official photographer, Yeo. I would rather eat a rock.”

“Well, with the amount of times you have been chosen to conduct documentation of the football team, you might as well be.”

You rolled your eyes, lightly pushing his shoulder. He stumbles to the side, nearly clashing with a tree. You turn to look the other way, whistling with your hands intertwined behind your back.

“So we’re just going to pretend you didn’t do anything?” he deadpanned, stopping in his tracks. You looked behind him, a blank expression on your face. “What are you talking about?” you tilted your head, feigning innocence.

“Yeah, we’re gonna pretend nothing happened. Got it,” he replied, catching up to you.

“How’s your sports article going, by the way?”

“Please don’t ask about that.”

—

Your eyes felt as if there was a fire igniting within them as you nearly dropped your head down on your study table, the dim, warm light of your lamp not being of any help with keeping your spirits wide awake. Had you known the amount of times you’d be robbed off your resting hours the moment you step foot into the college life, you probably would’ve constantly messed things up during high school just so you could repeat the year all over again and postpone the date of the official confirmation that you’re no longer a little child running through the playground.

You love to pick up pens and scribble words on blank papers even if your duty lies in clicking the buttons on a camera, but not on days like this wherein you’re doing not because you want to, but because you need to.

You hate being told what to do.

Mr Kim seems to have a knack for letting you carry all the burdens of those who are part of the publication of the campus, based on your past observations. The editorial writer has to publish an article due on Wednesday but she has to attend a family occasion on the same day? Sure, just swap her out with you. It’s totally fine, she totally didn’t have a chance to already start working on the paper for one whole week before it’s due at all. Sure, you’re fine with it—you should be.

People have always relied on you too much, and after a while, it made you start believing you weren’t brought upon this world to have struggles of your own, rather, you were here with a purpose to solve every conflict that occurs around you. You kept being pushed to validate others, so often to the point where the one you’re invalidating is yourself.

It’s not that you don’t bother to stand up for yourself, because you do—every single time, actually. But whenever such events happen, you’re always meeting a dead end with the same response from everyone.

“You won’t do it for me? You’re a horrible person, then.”

You’ve always been the problem solver, the go-to person when things go wrong. It started in high school, where you found yourself at the very top of a tower of extracurricular activities, balancing them with ease while also helping classmates with their assignments. Back then, you didn’t mind helping out. It felt good to be needed, to be the one people could rely on. It felt nice witnessing people’s success knowing you played a part in helping them improve, regardless of whether they expressed gratitude for it or not.

But somewhere along the way, that very role had become a cage, trapping you in a cycle of constant giving without receiving anything in return. You couldn’t afford to be carefree; you couldn’t afford to make mistakes. You had to be perfect, always. You thought college might be different, a place where people would finally stand on their own two feet, but hey, it turns out—it was worse.

Mr. Kim’s persistent habit of delegating others’ responsibilities to you was grating on your nerves. You were tired, not just physically, but emotionally. You felt like a machine, expected to churn out results without a moment’s pause for your own needs or desires.

The papers and notes scattered across your desk were a testament to your never-ending workload. You tried to focus, but your mind kept wandering back to the football field, to Wooyoung and his friends. The thought of them made you grind your teeth in frustration.

Your hatred for Wooyoung and his friends wasn’t just about their behavior on the field. It was about the deeper, more painful realization that they had yet another thing you might never have: the ability to live freely. They could be themselves without fear, while you had to conform to the expectations of others. Their lives seemed perfect in their imperfection, while yours felt like a never-ending quest for unattainable perfection.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, knowing that the very thing you despised in them was something you secretly longed for.

You wonder what it would be like to switch places, to live a day in their shoes. But it was a futile thought, one that only served to remind you of the stark difference between their world and yours. With a sigh, you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the tasks ahead. There was always more work to be done, and little time to dwell on what could never be.

You glanced at the clock. It was way past midnight. The silence of your room was only broken by the ticking of the clock and the occasional rustle of papers. You knew you should be sleeping, but sleep was a luxury you couldn’t afford. Not when there was always another deadline looming, another responsibility thrust upon you without warning.

With a heavy sigh, you picked up your pen again. The words flowed, albeit reluctantly, as you forced yourself to finish the editorial story. Each sentence felt like a burden, each paragraph a reminder of the countless hours you had sacrificed for the sake of others. You really could’ve been snuggled up in bed right now.

Your phone buzzed out of nowhere, dragging you out of your thoughts. You turned your head to the right side of the table where you placed it, and a message notification from Yeosang lit up your lockscreen.

“Are you alright?”

And that’s when the last string fell apart.

You put your pen down once more, and it fell to the ground. The weight of everything—the constant pressure, the endless responsibilities, the relentless need to be perfect—crashed down on you all at once. You felt the tears well up in your eyes, and before you knew it, they were streaming down your face.

You covered your mouth with your hand to stifle the sobs, not wanting anyone to hear. Even in your most vulnerable moments, you couldn’t afford to let anyone see you break. It was a cruel irony that the one person everyone relied on had no one to lean on themselves.

The message from Yeosang was still on your phone, the simple words cutting right through your defenses. He always knew when something was wrong, even if you never said a word. But this time, you couldn’t muster the strength to reply. You couldn’t bring yourself to say that you weren’t alright, that you were drowning under the weight of everyone’s expectations.

You hunched over, shoulders shaking as silent sobs wracked your body. The room felt cold and empty, the dim light of the lamp casting long shadows that seemed to close in on you. It was as if the world had shrunk to this one moment of pain and exhaustion, where nothing else existed but the overwhelming need to just let it all out.

For a long time, you stayed like that, silently crying, letting the tears wash away the frustration and the bitterness that had built up inside you. It felt like an eternity before you finally began to calm down, the sobs slowing to quiet sniffles. You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand, taking deep, shuddering breaths to steady yourself.

You glanced at your phone again, Yeosang's message still glowing softly on the screen. With a shaky hand, you typed out a reply.

“I will be.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either. You would be alright, eventually. You always found a way to pick yourself back up, to keep going no matter how hard it got. But right now, in this moment, you allowed yourself to feel the weight of it all—because you know it’ll be a long while before you can do so again.

You let out a long sigh, picking up your pen from the floor and placing it back on the table. The work was still there, waiting for you, but for now, you gave yourself a moment of respite. You needed it more than you cared to admit.

After a few more minutes, you straightened up, took another deep breath, and wiped the last of the tears from your face. There was no time for self-pity; you had work to do. And as always, you would find a way to get through it. One step at a time.

—

You were so tired and stressed while writing the article last night that you forgot to proofread each paragraph, and now Mr. Kim was endlessly nagging at you for the—mind you, two—mistakes you had made. His voice droned on, a relentless tirade that made you want to disappear into the floor.

“This is so unusual for you,” he said from his seat, as you stood in front of his desk with your hands intertwined in front of you. “You’ve shown me nothing but perfection for the past few months. Why can’t you live up to your reputation?”

“I... I’m sorry, Mr. Kim,” you muttered, not knowing what else to say. “Sorry? Do you think ‘sorry’ is going to cut it? You are supposed to set the standard here. Aren’t you one of the top students? What happened to the meticulous work you usually deliver?” he asked, clearly upset.

One of the top students, there it goes again. At this point, you can no longer recall how many times you’ve been called the exact same term. Funny how it always happens when you fail to live up to people’s expectations.

Each word felt like a hammer, pounding away at your already fragile sense of self. You kept your head down, murmuring apologies, wishing desperately for this to end. Mr. Kim continued, his disappointment evident in every syllable.

“This kind of sloppiness is unacceptable. I don’t care what your excuse is, this cannot happen again. Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

When he finally gave you permission to leave, you hurriedly left the room, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill. It was lunch break, and knowing that the football team didn’t have practice matches scheduled on Wednesdays, you headed for the quiet field. It was the only place you could think of to let it all out without anyone seeing.

Sitting at one of the bleachers, the tears began to fall softly. You weren’t shaking or sobbing like you were the night before—just silent tears streaming down your face. For a moment, you wondered if you had gone past your limit and had become completely numb. The pressure, the expectations, the constant need to be perfect—it was all too much.

Just then, a familiar voice called out of nowhere.

“Photo girl?”

You quickly wiped your tears, pretending not to notice him. You kept your eyes fixed on the greenery of the field, willing yourself to stay composed. Wooyoung approached and sat down behind you, his presence an unwelcome intrusion.

“Were you crying?” he asked, his tone surprisingly gentle.

“No,” you replied almost immediately, voice flat and unconvincing.

“Yes, you were. I saw it,” he countered, undeterred.

“Then pretend you didn’t see anything,” you snapped, looking away once more.

He was silent for a moment, and then he asked, “What’s the matter?”

You wanted to laugh at his face. “It’s not like someone like you would get it, anyway.”

“Why?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. “What’s so different about me that I wouldn’t understand?”

You turned to look at him, your eyes filled with a mix of frustration and emptiness—and it caught him off guard.

“Everything.”

“What do you-” he was about to ask for further elaboration, but you were already on your feet.

You stood up abruptly, not wanting to explain yourself to someone like him. Without another word, you walked away, leaving a very confused Wooyoung sitting alone on the bleachers. He watched you go, a frown creasing his forehead. There was clearly a lot he didn’t understand about you.

Class hours passed by like a blur, and now, you were on your way home, desperate for at least just a few minutes of rest. Looking back, it seems nothing had gone well for you today—to start off, Yeosang, the only person you like within the confines of the university, wasn’t around today because he and his family had to attend a relative’s birthday party.

When he told you about it earlier in the morning, you had considered calling in sick because truthfully, without him, the only thing that balances your dull life with half an amount of light, you’re not really sure how you’re supposed to survive the entire day without someone ‘accidentally’ ending up dead. Not that you’d actually do that, but the idea is, without Yeosang, you know you’d be a hundred percent more comfortable with lashing out at whoever dares to push your buttons.

But then again, perfect students don’t skip school no matter the intensity of circumstances, do they?

Coming in second is the conversation—if you could even call it that—you had with Mr. Kim in his office earlier. You genuinely believe he really didn’t have to say all that, betting every single penny in your pockets that if it were to have been a different student in your shoes, he wouldn’t even bother calling them to his office—he’d simply scribble corrections over the text written on their output with a bright red pen he once borrowed from a student and forgot to give back.

And last, but definitely not the least, Wooyoung’s unsolicited presence by the bleachers earlier. The words he let come out of his mouth were yet another testament to just how out of touch with reality he was—who in their right mind would ask a person who clearly wants to be left alone why they’re crying? The nerve he had to call you that horrendous nickname once again, too.

Finally reaching your most awaited location, you shoved your hand inside your bag, brows slightly furrowed while waiting for the tips of your fingers to feel the cool, metallic touch of your keys. Once you found it, you hurriedly inserted it in its designated hole on your doorknob, twisting your hand a few degrees so it would open. The sight that greeted you the moment you pushed the door open brought a soft sigh to your lips—at last, you were home.

Just a couple floors above your apartment, a group of boys were lounged lazily in the living room, a few of them busying themselves with watching the movie playing on the television, while the others engrossed themselves in a conversation with one another.

“Hey, Yunho,” Wooyoung called out from the sofa, his loud voice overtaking the quiet whispers of the two main characters of the dystopian movie playing on the screen.

Yunho, who was in the kitchen, answered back, “Yeah, what’s up?”

Wooyoung stood up and made his way to the kitchen. “What does it mean when you ask someone why they’re crying and they tell you, ‘It’s not like someone like you would understand, anyway’?”

Yunho raised an eyebrow, dropping the kitchen knife down on the cutting board. “Where did that question come from? Did you come across someone crying?”

Wooyoung shrugged, not wanting to give away too much. “It’s a hypothetical situation. Just answer the question.”

Yunho leaned against the counter, contemplating. “Well, it could mean two things. One, what they’re going through is too complex for anyone to understand, so they feel like it’s pointless to explain it.”

Wooyoung nodded slowly, considering this. “And the other?”

Yunho shrugged. “The other is that they think you’re too stupid to understand.”

Wooyoung’s expression darkened, clearly offended. “Low blow, dude.”

Yunho chuckled. “Hey, I didn’t say that’s what they actually meant. Just a possibility, you know? Sometimes, people go through things that they don’t think others can relate to. It’s not always about intelligence. It’s about experience and perspective. Maybe this person just feels like you haven’t been through what they’re dealing with.”

Wooyoung remained silent for a few seconds, considering the possibilities behind your statement earlier being what Yunho was explaining to him.

He found himself thinking too deeply about it, which puzzled him even more. He and his friends knew you as that one quiet, smart photojournalist who never seemed to smile and hated everyone who wasn’t Yeosang. You were an enigma to him, someone who always seemed to float above the petty dramas and trivial concerns that occupied most students’ lives. He had always thought you were just like that because you didn’t know how to have fun with your life, or maybe you just chose not to. To Wooyoung, you were a constant—a fixture in the background who never wavered or showed any sign of vulnerability.

So seeing you in such a vulnerable state earlier left him perplexed, hence why he was deep in thought about it. The image of you sitting alone on the bleachers, tears silently falling, replayed in his mind. He couldn’t reconcile that image with the stoic, composed person he’d always seen you as. It didn’t make sense. People who didn’t care about anything or anyone weren’t supposed to break down like that, right?

He wondered if he had misjudged you all along. Maybe there was more to your story than he had ever considered. Maybe your silence and apparent disdain for others were a shield, protecting you from something he couldn’t see. The thought left him unsettled. It challenged his perception of you and, by extension, of himself.

Was he really so shallow that he couldn’t see beyond the surface? Had he been too quick to dismiss you as just another uptight overachiever who couldn’t loosen up? The more he thought about it, the more he realized how little he actually knew about you. He didn’t know what your interests were, what made you laugh, or what made you cry—except now he knew you did cry, and that knowledge gnawed at him.

Yunho noticed his friend’s unusual silence and gently nudged him. “Hey, you okay? You look like you’re lost in your own head.”

Wooyoung blinked, snapping out of his reverie. “Yeah, I’m good. Just... thinking.”

Yunho gave him a curious look. “About the ‘hypothetical’ person?”

Wooyoung nodded slowly. “Yeah. I mean, she—I mean, they—always seemed so... untouchable. Like nothing could get to them. It was weird, you know, seeing someone like that break down.”

Yunho tilted his head, observing Wooyoung’s troubled expression. “Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe they’re not as untouchable as you think. Sometimes the people who seem the strongest are the ones carrying the heaviest of burdens. There are layers to everyone’s lives—the only reason it often doesn’t seem like it is because people tend to only show to the masses what they want them to see, and not the whole picture.”

Wooyoung remained silent, absorbing Yunho’s words. He found himself questioning his previous assumptions about you, wondering if there was more to your story than he had ever considered. He felt a strange mix of curiosity and guilt. Curiosity about what lay beneath your stoic exterior and guilt for having judged you so harshly without ever trying to understand you.

—

Is it possible to still feel lonely, even when you’re surrounded by a swarm of people at all times?

No matter what the answer to that question would be, one thing’s for sure—Wooyoung has not even a single idea of what it is. It’s an unanswered thought that has never left his mind the moment it first made its way inside. Sure, he’s deemed the star athlete of the campus, sure, pairs of eyes follow him regardless of which hall he decides to walk on, sure, he’s got the life of the party—but despite all that, why does he still feel like there’s something missing? Why does being full still make him feel empty, somehow?

His thoughts drifted back to the field, to you, the stoic photojournalist who seemed to see right through his façade. Despite your brief and antagonistic interactions, there was something about you that intrigued him. You seemed immune to his charms, treating him with a mixture of disdain and indifference. It was refreshing, in a way, to be seen as just another person rather than some sort of campus celebrity to gawk at.

But at the same time, he found himself oddly looking way too deep into the moment that occured back in the field a while ago. Your words kept echoing in his mind constantly, whether it was during the times he’d be lacing his shoes up or those when he’d be staring at the void of which is nowhere during class.

“It’s not like someone like you would understand, anyway.”

He wondered what you meant by that. Mulling over the two possible reasons Yunho suggested, he had a feeling it was a mixture of both. He wondered if you were experiencing something similar to him—he wondered just how similar your worlds were to each other.

Weeks had passed since that encounter you had with Wooyoung, and in that time, you had perfected the art of avoidance. The mere thought of facing him, of the possibility that he might mention that moment, sent a chill down your spine. You couldn’t bear the idea that he had seen a glimpse of a part of you that was meant to stay hidden, especially someone who, in your mind, lived in an entirely different world.

Every time you passed the field, you felt a pang of anxiety. You had meticulously planned your days to avoid any chance of running into the football team, sticking to routes and schedules that would keep you as far away from them as possible. The thought of Wooyoung seeing you cry gnawed at you, an incessant reminder of your vulnerability.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. The fact that Wooyoung was gullible enough to have the guts to ask you what could possibly make him different from you made you fume each time the thought would cross your mind. The answer couldn’t have been any more obvious—everything. He lived a life surrounded by admiration and camaraderie, while you navigated through solitary achievements and quiet struggles. It wasn’t just a matter of different worlds; it was a matter of fundamentally different experiences.

At home, you tried to lose yourself in your work, burying your emotions under layers of assignments and projects. Yet, despite your best efforts, the memory of that afternoon clung to you. You felt exposed, as if a spotlight had been cast on your most private pain, and Wooyoung had seen it all. It was a feeling you couldn’t shake, and it left you feeling raw and vulnerable.

Yeosang had noticed the change in you. “You’re avoiding the team more than usual,” he remarked one afternoon as you both sat in the library. “What’s going on?”

“They’re just getting more irritating,” you replied, keeping your eyes on your notebook. “I can’t stand their antics anymore.”

He looked at you skeptically but didn’t push further. If you wanted to tell him about it, you would. There was no necessity to pressure you at all. “Makes sense.”

“Oh, by the way, a new café called ‘Heavenly Brews’ or something just opened up a few blocks away from our university’s building. Wanna check it out later? It’s the talk of the town lately.”

You nodded, grateful for his understanding but unwilling to delve into the real reason behind your avoidance. The truth was too complicated, too painful to articulate. The incident with Wooyoung had left a bruise on your pride, one that you weren’t ready to expose, even to Yeosang.

In the weeks that followed, you threw yourself into your studies, hoping that academic rigor would drown out the thoughts of Wooyoung and the vulnerability he had witnessed. You kept avoiding the field and any place where the football team might be, crafting your life into a careful routine that kept you far from them.

One late afternoon, as you packed up your camera after a long shoot, Yeosang approached you with concern etched on his face. “You’ve been working yourself to the bone,” he said gently. “Maybe you should take a break.”

You forced yourself to answer. “I’m fine, really. Just a lot going on.”

No, you weren’t. There were circles under your eyes. You no longer seemed to put an effort in tidying up your appearance as you usually would. Your patience has turned into a ticking time bomb. You weren’t fine at all.

But you had to be.

He sighed, clearly not convinced yet not wanting to push you further. “Just remember, I’m here if you need to talk. About anything.”

“I know,” you replied, hoping he couldn’t see the cracks forming in your façade.

As you walked home that day, the weight of your secrets and the memory of that vulnerable moment threatened to overwhelm you. You knew you couldn’t keep running forever. Sooner or later, you would have to confront the emotions you were trying so hard to bury, and when that moment came, you hoped you’d find the strength to face it.

And it seems as if that very moment was now finally getting to see the light of day.

Sitting in Mr. Kim’s office, you tried to keep your composure as he sifted through a stack of papers on his desk. The dim light of the room and the cluttered desk made the atmosphere feel heavy. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of foreboding.

“Do you remember the pictures you took of the football team for Yeosang’s article about the daily lives of student athletes?” Mr. Kim asked, finally looking up.

You nodded, your mind flashing back to that exhausting day. “Yes, I remember.”

“Well, I showed them to the dean,” he said, leaning back in his chair with a small smile. “And she loved them. In fact, she loved them so much that she wanted to see those shots published in some sort of newspaper or magazine.”

A rush of excitement surged through you. It was rare to receive such high praise, and even rarer for the dean to take a personal interest in your work. Despite the bubbling joy within, you maintained your composure, listening intently as Mr. Kim spoke.

“That’s great news,” you managed to say, keeping your tone neutral.

“There’s more,” Mr. Kim continued, his smile fading into a more serious expression. “In order to make the dean’s wishes come true, I’m planning to actually publish a magazine. And for that, we need more than just photos.”

You felt a knot forming in your stomach as he spoke. “What do you mean?”

“I want you to interview a football player for the feature,” he said, his eyes fixed on you.

The words hit you like a ton of bricks. Of all the assignments, this was the one you dreaded the most. Interviewing a football player meant spending time with the very people you had been avoiding, the ones who lived in a different world from yours, the ones who had no idea what your life was like. At this point, you’re starting to think Mr. Kim is absolutely out of touch with reality. He never seems to realize how much he’s working you out—and even if he did, at some point, you highly doubt he’d ever care.

He never even dares to do anything for the sake of you and the other members of the publication. All that matters to him is his reputation won’t be tainted, all that matters to him is his fellow faculty personnel praising him for ‘training’ the student journalists well. Once anyone tries to ask about the hardships you face for the sake of his image, he’s dead silent as if he was born with a mouth meant to only open to speak well of himself.

“But, Mr. Kim...” you started, trying to find a way out of this.

He raised a hand to stop you. “I know you’re not thrilled about it, but you’re the best person for the job. Your photos were impressive, and I believe your interview can be just as great.”

Of course he only cares about the final result. That’s how things have always been. But each time you get reminded of it, you still always end up finding it in you to stay. There was no way you were going to let a lazy man pushing his 50’s ruin your passion for you.

You swallowed hard, feeling cornered. “Do I have a choice?”

“Not really,” he said, with no hint of apology in his voice. “This is a big opportunity, not just for you, but for our entire publication. I trust you can handle it.”

Our, and yet you’ve done things for the publication more than he ever has.

“Which player?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“That’s up to you,” Mr. Kim said. “Choose the one you think will provide the most compelling story. But remember, I’m expecting something exceptional from you.”

You nodded wordlessly, the weight of the new assignment settling heavily on your shoulders. The initial joy of the dean’s praise was overshadowed by the dread of what lay ahead.

“Alright,” you said, standing up. “I’ll get to work on it.”

As you left Mr. Kim’s office, your mind raced with endless thoughts. The joy you had felt moments earlier was now buried under layers of anxiety and frustration. You had been avoiding the football team for weeks, and now, you were being thrust back into their world with a responsibility you couldn’t escape.

Walking through the halls, you tried to think of a strategy. Who could you interview? Who would be willing to share their story, and more importantly, who could you tolerate enough to spend time with?

As you approached your locker, you saw Yeosang leaning against it, waiting for you. He noticed the troubled look on your face immediately.

“Hey, what’s up? You look troubled,” he said, concern evident in his voice.

You sighed and began recounting everything about the conversation you had with Mr. Kim. “Remember when I took photos of the football team for your sports article?”

“Yeah, I do. Why?” he asked, tilting his head as he had no idea where this conversation would lead to.

“Mr. Kim showed those photos to the dean, and she loved them,” you started, watching Yeosang’s eyes light up with pride for you. “She even said she’d love to read a magazine of the university’s football team if those shots were to be included.”

“That’s amazing!” Yeosang beamed, but his excitement dimmed when he saw you weren't sharing his enthusiasm. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s more,” you continued. “Mr. Kim wants to make the dean’s wishes come true by actually publishing a magazine. And for that, he wants me to interview one of the football players.”

Yeosang’s face fell into a more serious expression. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. I don’t know who to choose. I don’t know enough about any of them to know if they’ll be insufferable during the interview or not,” you said, frustration creeping into your voice.

Yeosang thought for a moment before suggesting, “What about Hongjoong? He seems to be the most wise and logical of them all. He’s like their team’s ‘captain,’ anyway, so it makes sense to interview him.”

You looked at him, skeptical. “I don’t even know how to contact him.”

“Why else do you think would I have suggested interviewing Hongjoong if I wasn’t prepared beforehand?”

“Huh?”

With a smile, Yeosang pulled out his phone and handed it to you, displaying Hongjoong’s contact information.

Confused and surprised, you asked, “Now… why on earth do you have Hongjoong’s number?”

Yeosang chuckled. “I’m a sports writer. Of course, I’d have his and the team’s numbers.”

You shook your head, slightly amused. “It would’ve been way better for you to be the one conducting the interview instead.”

“But it’s not me, is it?" Yeosang replied, gently nudging your shoulder. “Mr. Kim entrusted this task to you for a reason. Don’t doubt yourself.”

The moment you got home after school, you wasted no time in sending a message to Hongjoong.

“Hey, Hongjoong. This is the head photojournalist of our school’s publication. I hope you’re doing well. I’m reaching out because we’re working on a magazine about the daily lives of student athletes, and for this feature, I need to conduct an interview with a member of the football team. If you don’t mind, would you be available for it this Friday?”

Truth be told, you had no idea how the interview would play out. The thought of sitting down with a football team member filled you with a mixture of dread and anxiety. You hoped Hongjoong would agree to your request, sparing you the need to approach any other football player. You couldn’t shake the fear that Wooyoung had told his teammates about your vulnerable moment by the bleachers. The idea of facing any of them, knowing they might be aware of your breakdown, was unbearable.

You desperately wanted Hongjoong to agree, not just because he seemed the most approachable, but because the alternatives were too daunting to consider. The mere thought of interacting with the rest of the team made your stomach churn.

Meanwhile, at Jongho’s apartment, the football team was scattered around the living room. Hongjoong received your message and decided to share it with the group.

“Hey, everyone, listen up,” Hongjoong called out, standing in the middle of the room. “I just got a message from the head photojournalist of the journalism club. She said she had to interview one of us for a magazine about student athletes—a task from Mr. Kim, it seems.”

Seonghwa looked up from his phone, curiosity piqued. “Just how many more articles about us is that old man planning on publishing? Did she say who she wants to interview, anyway?”

Hongjoong shook his head. “Well, she asked if I was available, so I can only guess it’s me.”

“When’s it set?” Mingi asked. He was not planning on volunteering for the interview in case Hongjoong would not be available at all, but he just wanted to know.

“The interview is set for this Friday. I’ve got a meeting scheduled with the dean on the very same day, though.” Hongjoong explained. “Is anyone else free?”

San, lounging on the couch, quickly spoke up. “I’ve got a family occasion I can’t skip. Sorry, can’t do it.”

“Same here,” Jongho added. “My cousins are coming over, and I’m stuck entertaining them.”

Seonghwa sighed. “I’ve got a major project due next week. I’ll be buried in the library all weekend.”

Yunho, who had been half-listening while playing a game on his phone, shrugged. “I’ve got practice for another sport. Busy all day Friday.”

Mingi chimed in lazily, sprawled across an armchair. “An interview sounds like too much work. I’d rather just chill.”

“We’ve got everyone having valid reasons for not being available, and you’re out here saying you can’t do it because you’d rather chill?”

Just as a bickering session between Mingi and Hongjoong was about to bloom, Wooyoung emerged from Jongho’s room, rubbing his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice still groggy as he had just woken up.

Hongjoong turned to him, hopeful. “Hey, Woo. Are you free this Friday?”

Wooyoung nodded, still processing his surroundings. He squinted his eyes while being lost in thought, trying to recall if he had anything planned for that day. Once he was certain the date on his calendar was blank, he traced his gaze back to Hongjoong. “Yeah, I think so. Why?”

Hongjoong handed him the phone, showing him your message. “The head photojournalist wants to do an interview for a magazine about student athletes. She asked if I was available, but if you’re free, maybe you can do it instead since I’ve got something else scheduled on Friday this week.”

Wooyoung glanced at the message blankly, looking at the top of the phone screen to check Hongjoong’s low battery percentage first before finally getting himself to focus and read the message from an unknown contact. “Photo girl?”

“If that’s what you call her, then yeah.”

“Sure, I can do it,” he said, handing the phone back to Hongjoong. “No problem.”

“Great,” Hongjoong said, patting him on the back. “I’ll let her know.”

“Your phone’s about to shut down, by the way.”

After a few minutes of impatiently waiting, your phone screen finally lit up as your notification went off. When you read the message on your phone, a sigh escaped your lips.

“Hey, I’m really sorry, but it looks like the rest of the team and I are unavailable on the day you set for the interview. Here’s a rundown: San has a family event that he can't miss, Seonghwa has a big exam the next day and needs to study, Jongho’s cousins are visiting, and he has to show them around, Mingi said he’s too lazy and doesn't want to do it, Yunho’s got some extra training sessions scheduled, and I have a meeting with the dean that I can't reschedule. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

When you said you didn’t want to interview any of them, you didn’t mean... this. How were you supposed to conduct the interview for the magazine now? You certainly couldn’t afford to disappoint Mr. Kim again.

Then you saw Hongjoong typing again, and the moment his next message arrived, you felt another wave of dread wash over you.

“Wooyoung is available on that day, though, so you could interview him instead. Would that be alright with you?”

Your heart sank.

This was exactly what you had been dreading. The last person you wanted to spend any time with, let alone conduct a one-on-one interview with, was Wooyoung. The thought of facing him again, especially after he had seen you in a vulnerable state, was something you couldn’t handle.

You desperately clung to the hope that maybe some of the others’ reasons for not being available would fall through. Maybe San’s family event would get postponed, or Jongho’s cousins would cancel. You didn’t want this. It felt like a cruel twist of fate.

But deep down, you knew you didn’t have a choice. You couldn’t risk disappointing Mr. Kim and the dean or tarnishing the reputation of the publication. You knew the value of the activity, even if you hated it. Your commitment to your work and the expectations placed on you left you with no other option.

“Yeah, sure, that’s fine with me.”

You sent the message, even though every fiber of your being was stressing over the impending interview. The uncertainty of how it would go and the anxiety of facing Wooyoung again weighed heavily on you.

Yet, you had to push through and maintain your professionalism, no matter how difficult it might be, your words from a conversation you had with Yeosang a while ago echoing in your head.

There’s no way I’ll ever let my personal feelings get in the way of my duties.

You didn’t know for sure how longer you could hold out until you’d eventually betray yourself, and you certainly didn’t want to find out.

—

It was now Friday.

You had scheduled the interview with Wooyoung after school, ensuring that no one would interrupt and ruin things for you. You had informed Hongjoong of the time and place, opting to avoid the trouble of negotiating with an airheaded Wooyoung. The field, usually bustling with activity, would be quieter in the late afternoon, providing a suitable backdrop for your interview.

This was the first time in your life you wished for your classes to last longer, hoping to stretch the gap between the time now and the schedule for the interview. You couldn’t bring yourself to focus while your professor endlessly droned on; your mind was preoccupied with how you would handle the upcoming encounter. You resolved to be more closed off and professional, determined to keep the interview strictly business so that there would be no room for Wooyoung to bring up your breakdown by the bleachers weeks ago.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of the last class, you felt an overwhelming urge to just stay inside the classroom as you’d melt away in your seat forever until you’re gradually reduced to nothing but a soaked spot on the floor. But you couldn’t. You had responsibilities to fulfill, and most importantly, expectations to live up to.

You arrived at the field, where the setting sun cast long shadows across the grass. The air was cooler, and the usual buzz of student activity had quieted down, with only a few students still inside of the school building. You spotted Wooyoung near the bleachers, casually leaning against a post, his carefree demeanor unchanged. On the bridge of his nose sat a colorful bandage, and for a moment, you wonder whether he had a small cut on that area or if he simply stamped it on his face for a fun little look. Knowing him, it was most likely the latter.

Taking a deep breath, you approached him, clutching your notebook and pen. Wooyoung noticed you and straightened up, a playful smile forming at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey, ready for the interrogation?” he teased, but you kept your expression neutral. “Let’s get started,” you said briskly, flipping open your notebook. “I want to make sure we cover everything efficiently.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow at your tone but didn’t comment further. “Alright, shoot.”

“How long have you been playing football?” you began with a simple question, your pen poised to jot down his answer.

“Since I was a kid, about six or seven,” he replied, leaning back slightly. “My dad used to take me to the park every weekend, and we’d mick the ball around. Those moments are some of my best memories. Ever since then, football became my escape, my way of expressing myself when words weren’t enough.”

You scribbled down his answer and quickly moved to the next question, opting for one that a lot of other people would relate to—at least you hope they would. “What do you think is the most challenging part of being a student-athlete?”

“Hmm,” Wooyoung leaned back, thinking. “Balancing academics and sports is tough. There are days when you feel like you can’t handle both, but you push through because you love the game. It’s about discipline, really. There are times I stay up late studying after a grueling practice, and times I miss out on social events because I have to train. But at the end of the day, it’s all worth it when you’re on the field, giving it your all.”

He threw in a joke about juggling books and balls, but you crossed it off your notes. Wooyoung noticed it, making him gasp. “Why did you cross that out? It was a good joke!”

It really wasn’t.

“This is for a professional interview,” you replied simply. “I can’t include your stand-up routine.”

As you continued asking questions, Wooyoung's carefree demeanor gradually shifted. He gave more serious, thoughtful answers that revealed a depth you hadn’t expected at all.

“Why do you think teamwork is important?” you asked.

“Teamwork is everything,” Wooyoung said earnestly. “No matter how skilled an individual player is, it’s the team itself that starts the gamble on whether you’ll win a game or not. Trusting each other, understanding each other’s strengths and weaknesses—that’s what makes a team strong. We push each other to be better, and we cover for each other’s mistakes. In life and on the field, you need people you can rely on, and who can rely on you.”

You noted his answer, feeling a flicker of surprise at his sincerity. This definitely didn't sound like the annoying star athlete you had always pegged him as. And it was strange. It was like seeing an entirely new side of him—and to be fair, that’s quite what’s actually happening.

“What are your future aspirations in football?” you continued, trying to keep the momentum.

“I want to go pro, of course,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “But more than that, I want to inspire younger kids. Show them that with hard work and passion, they can achieve their dreams. Football taught me a lot about resilience, about fighting for what you want. If I can pass that on to the next generation, I’ll consider my career a success.”

You paused, glancing up at him. “That’s a very noble goal.” You didn’t have to say that, but you did.

“Thanks,” Wooyoung said, smiling. “Football gave me a lot. It’s only fair I give something back.”

The interview progressed smoothly, and you found yourself begrudgingly impressed by his maturity and insight. It was as if a different side of Wooyoung had emerged, one that was thoughtful and introspective. Throughout the interview, you kept stealing glances at his bandage, trying to decipher what design it had without being too obvious.

“Do you have any pre-game rituals or superstitions?” you asked, curious.

Wooyoung chuckled. “Oh, definitely. You know, I have this pair of socks I wore for every game back in high school. They’ve got holes in them, and my mom kept threatening to throw them out, but I couldn’t, because I wanted to keep it so bad back then—well, that was my past superstition. Right now, I always listen to the same playlist before a match—it’s a mix of hype songs and calm tracks to get me in the zone.”

You couldn't help but be amused by his answer, subtly looking down to see if he was wearing those socks in question—mentally sighing in relief when you were sure enough he wasn’t. “I suppose I’ll have to leave out the part about the socks.”

“Hey, those socks are legendary!" he protested, but you shook your head.

As you wrapped up, you asked one final question, “Any advice for students who are struggling to balance their academics and extracurricular activities?”

Wooyoung looked thoughtful. “Find your passion and let it drive you. It’s going to be tough, but if you love what you do, it’ll all be worth it. And don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it. No one gets through life alone. Whether it’s friends, family, or teachers, there are always people willing to support you. Lean on them when you need to, and don’t be too hard on yourself. Everyone struggles; it's how you handle it that defines you.”

His answer to the final question hit you on a level more personal than you ever would’ve expected it to, but you couldn’t afford to let it show.

The interview was done, but you felt a lingering sense of unfinished business. Closing your notebook, you decided to ask him another question, one that wouldn’t make it into the article but that you needed answered for your own peace of mind.

“Hey, Wooyoung, can I ask you something off the record?” you said, your tone softer and more hesitant than before.

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Sure, what’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, you asked, “Why do you keep pretending everything is perfect? I mean, you always seem so carefree and happy, but... is it really like that?”

Wooyoung's playful demeanor faded, replaced by a more serious expression. He leaned back against the bleachers, gazing out at the field before speaking.

“Everyone thinks my life is perfect—it appears even you do, but hey, I don’t blame you for it,” he began slowly. “It’s just that the truth is, it’s actually far from it. Well, yeah, I joke around and try to keep things light, but that’s just my way of coping, you know? There’s a lot of pressure being the person everyone expects to be happy and successful all the time."

You listened intently, feeling a pang of empathy. It was like hearing your thoughts from a perspective that wasn’t the same as yours, yet was not as different either.

“Behind the scenes, it’s not always as great as it looks,” Wooyoung continued. "I have my own struggles too. There’s the constant pressure to perform, to keep up my grades, to maintain this image. Sometimes, it feels like I’m just pretending to be someone I’m not. It’s exhausting.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And then there’s my family. They expect a lot from me, and I don’t want to let them down. But sometimes, I feel like I’m living their dreams instead of my own. I guess... I just try to make the best of it, you know? If I can make people laugh and forget their problems for a while, maybe it makes mine a little easier to bear.”

You were silent for a moment, absorbing his words. This wasn't the Wooyoung you were used to seeing—the carefree, confident athlete. This was someone who, like you, carried his own burdens and insecurities.

You’ve always held a great amount of resentment towards him because you thought it was unfair for him to be living a life so colorful while you were trapped within the confines of which is your very own self. You hated hearing him laugh because it would do nothing but remind you of your silent cries deep in the night. You hated seeing him smile because all it does is flash an image of the natural frown your lips always wore in your head.

But after finding out just what he hid behind the curtains and just how similar you were to each other despite standing in different lights, you figured there was no longer any reason to continue to hate him—none in the first place—because if you continued to, it would only mean hating a part of yourself as well.

“I never would have guessed,” you admitted, albeit hesitantly, making Wooyoung let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, that’s exactly the goal I’m aiming for.” He shrugged, looking down to his shoes on the floor while he swayed a foot back and forth.

“I get that a lot.”

“So why do you keep pretending that nothing affects you?”

Before the interview, you had resolved to keep everything strictly professional. But now, after hearing Wooyoung’s candid revelations, you felt a shift inside. The idea of maintaining that professional distance seemed less important. Finding out that Wooyoung wasn’t so different from you had extinguished the fire of hate you once felt for him.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question. He noticed this and quickly added, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

But you did want to answer. You really, really did. The words just felt heavy on your tongue, and you struggled to find the right way to express them, is all.

“It's not easy,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve always felt like I had to be perfect. Growing up, people relied on me so much that I started believing my worth was tied to my ability to solve their problems and never show my own.”

Wooyoung nodded silently to show you he was listening, his expression encouraging you to continue.

“Being perfect became my shield,” you said, staring at the grass as you spoke. “If I didn’t show any cracks, no one would see how much I was struggling. But it also meant I couldn’t afford to let anyone in. I couldn’t let anyone see that I wasn’t as strong as they thought I was.”

You let out a deep exhale, feeling the weight of your own words. “It gets lonely, you know? Always having to be the one who has it all together. People think I don’t have any problems because I don't show them, but the truth is... it’s just easier that way. If I start showing my vulnerabilities, I’m afraid everything will fall apart.”

Wooyoung listened intently, his eyes reflecting understanding and empathy. “I get that,” he said softly. “It’s like, if you let one crack show, the whole facade might crumble.”

“Exactly,” you replied, feeling a strange sense of relief at his understanding. “It’s exhausting, though. Sometimes I wish I could just... be myself. But I don’t even know who that is anymore.”

“Be nobody, then.”

There was a moment of silence as his words hung in the air.

“What?” you asked, not quite understanding.

“Be nobody,” he repeated, his tone thoughtful. “I mean, stop trying to fit into the mold of who you think you should be. Don’t worry about being perfect or living up to everyone’s expectations. Just... be. You don’t have to be somebody all the time, you know? Let go of all the roles and responsibilities for a moment. Be nobody, with no expectations and no pressure. It’s freeing.”

You stared at him, processing his words. “It’s easier said than done.”

“Well, yeah, it really is,” Wooyoung admitted. “But start small. Give yourself permission to not have all the answers, to not always be the strong one. Find moments where you can just exist without any labels or duties. For me, it’s when I’m on the field. I lose myself in those moments, and it feels like a break from everything else.”

His words resonated with you. The idea of just being, without the weight of expectations, sounded almost too good to be true. “But what if everything falls apart?”

“Then let it,” Wooyoung said with a small smile. “Sometimes things need to fall apart so they can come back together in a better way. And you don't have to do it alone. Lean on people you trust. Even if it's just one person, it makes a difference.”

—

You found yourself spending more time in the field than usual.

Following Wooyoung’s advice, you attempted to let go of your responsibilities, allowing yourself to simply be and do what made you happy rather than what needed to be done. But it was harder than you thought. You had become so accustomed to striving for perfection that you had forgotten what it felt like to make mistakes. You were so used to always being at your highest that your feet could no longer reach the lowest, and it was suffocating.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

Looking towards the direction of the voice, you saw Wooyoung holding a football, a smile on his face. “How’s the nobody journey going for you?”

You let out a sigh, shaking your head slightly. “It’s... difficult. Harder than I thought it would be.”

He walked over and sat down beside you, placing the football between his feet. “Yeah, it’s not something that happens overnight. But hey, it’s a process. You don’t have to get it right immediately.”

“I’ve been trying,” you admitted, your voice tinged with frustration. “But I’m so used to being perfect, to not making mistakes. It’s like I’ve forgotten how to cut myself some slack.”

Wooyoung nodded, understanding in his eyes. “I get that. When you’re used to always being on top, it feels like you can’t afford to slip, even a little. But that’s exactly why it’s important to let yourself be imperfect sometimes. It’s the only way to really breathe.”

You glanced at him, appreciating his empathy. “How do you do it? How do you find those moments to just be nobody?”

He shrugged, looking out at the field. “I find activities that let me lose myself. For me, it’s playing football—but you probably already know that, or even just hanging out with friends without any pressure. It’s about finding little pockets of freedom in your day.”

You nodded slowly, trying to take his advice to heart. “I guess I need to find my own pockets of freedom.”

Wooyoung smiled, nudging you with his shoulder. “How about we play football together?”

“Huh?”

You hesitated, feeling a bit on edge. The idea of playing football seemed so far from your comfort zone. “I’m not really... experienced with that. And what good would playing football with you do?”

He grinned, unfazed by your reluctance. “It’ll probably be a good way for you to loosen up. You don’t have to be good at it. Just kick the ball around, have some fun. No expectations, no pressure. It’s a chance to be nobody, remember?”

You frowned, still uncertain. “I don’t know. I’ve never really been the type to do such things.”

“And that’s exactly why you should try it,” he countered. “It’s not about being the best or even being good. It’s about doing something different, letting go, and just enjoying the moment. Come on, what do you have to lose?”

You sighed, feeling the weight of your hesitations. But his enthusiasm was contagious, and a part of you yearned for that freedom he talked about. “Alright, fine. But don’t laugh at me if I mess up.”

“Deal.”

You and Wooyoung got off the bleachers and walked onto the field. The grass felt soft under your feet, the evening sun casting long shadows. Wooyoung placed the football on the ground and turned to you with an encouraging smile.

“Alright, let’s start with the basics,” he said. Wooyoung placed the football down and began explaining with a focused expression. “So, there are different types of kicks in football. The most basic one is the inside-of-the-foot kick, which is good for short passes. You want to strike the ball with the inner part of your foot like this.” He demonstrated, tapping the ball lightly with the side of his foot.

“You can also use the top of your foot for a more powerful kick, like when you’re trying to shoot for a goal.” He took a step back and swung his leg, striking the ball with the laces of his shoe, sending it flying a few meters away. “See? More power.”

Nodding, you tried to absorb the information. “Okay, inside of the foot for control, top of the foot for power. Got it.”

“Exactly,” Wooyoung said, retrieving the ball. “Now, let’s talk about dribbling. Dribbling is all about keeping the ball close to your feet while you move. You want to use small touches to guide the ball and keep it under control. Like this.” He began moving around you, tapping the ball lightly with each step, keeping it close to his feet.

“Try to keep your knees slightly bent and your body low,” he continued. “It’ll help you change directions quickly and keep the ball close.”

You watched closely, then attempted to mimic his movements. Your first try was clumsy, sending the ball away from you. Bracing yourself for the inevitable teasing, you were surprised when Wooyoung didn’t laugh or make fun of you. Instead, he smiled warmly.

“That’s not quite it. Here, I’ll demonstrate for you,” he said, jogging after the ball and bringing it back, showing you how to correct your stance and control your touches.

“Remember, small touches,” he encouraged. “Don’t be afraid to move with the ball. It’s like dancing. Feel the rhythm.”

After a few more attempts, you started to get the hang of it. “Alright, I think I’m getting it.”

Wooyoung grinned. “You’re doing great! Now, let’s combine the dribbling with the kicking. Try dribbling a few steps and then pass the ball back to me using the inside of your foot.”

You followed his instructions, managing a somewhat decent dribble before passing the ball back. Wooyoung received it with ease and nodded in approval. “Nice job! You’re improving already.”

Despite your initial hesitance, you found yourself enjoying the practice. Wooyoung’s patient guidance and genuine enthusiasm made it easier to let go of your usual reservations.

As Wooyoung continued to explain the different techniques and strategies of football, you found yourself increasingly impressed by his knowledge and passion. It was evident that he practically breathed football. Every word he spoke was filled with an enthusiasm that was contagious, and his demonstrations were executed with such skill and precision that you couldn’t help but be in awe.

It struck you that Wooyoung wasn’t just good at football—he was exceptional. Watching him move with such ease and confidence, you realized that this wasn’t just a sport to him; it was a way of life. His dedication and love for the game were palpable, and it was inspiring to see someone so genuinely committed to something they cared about.

This new perspective was enlightening. Where you once harbored resentment and annoyance, you now saw a depth and passion that was impossible to ignore. It made you reconsider your previous judgments and feel a newfound sense of liking for him.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t notice that Wooyoung had stopped talking. He waved his hand in front of your face, snapping you out of your reverie.

“Hey, earth to you. Are you still with me?” he teased, a playful grin on his face.

You blinked, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Oh, sorry. I’m listening. Go on.”

Already encouraged by your progress, he continued explaining. “There’s also the outside-of-the-foot kick, which is great for bending passes or shots. You strike the ball with the outside edge of your foot. It takes a bit more practice to get the curve right.” He demonstrated with a swift kick, sending the ball curving gently to the side.

“Whoa, that’s cool,” you remarked, impressed.

“Yeah, it’s pretty handy. And for dribbling, you can use all parts of your foot—inside, outside, even the sole. It’s all about control and keeping the ball moving with you.”

You practiced these new techniques under his watchful eye. Each attempt brought a new correction or piece of advice from Wooyoung, who remained encouraging throughout. His dedication to helping you improve was surprising, and for the first time, you felt a connection beyond the usual frustrations and misunderstandings.

After another try at dribbling and kicking, Wooyoung clapped his hands together. “That’s it! You’re really getting the hang of this. Alright, so now, I’ll show you how to score a goal—”

“I know how a goal is scored, Wooyoung,” you interjected, although a little amused.

Awkwardly chuckling, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, right.”

Clearing his throat, he went back to the topic at hand in order to save himself from embarrassment. After Wooyoung finished his explanations, you both moved on to play together. You hesitated at first, still uncertain about whether you should do what you were about to. Sensing your reluctance, Wooyoung offered a reassuring smile.

“Remember, this is all about letting go of everything, alright?” he reminded you gently.

You both started kicking the ball around, your initial movements tentative. Wooyoung kept the ball rolling slowly toward you, encouraging you with gentle nods.

“Just give it a light tap,” he instructed as the ball rolled to your feet.

You swung your leg and sent the ball wobbling in an unexpected direction. Instinctively, you glanced at Wooyoung, expecting laughter just like how you did earlier, but he just smiled and jogged over to retrieve it—just like how he did earlier.

You gave it a shot once more, trying to replicate his past movements. The ball seemed to have a mind of its own, but Wooyoung's encouraging words kept you going. “You’re doing great, alright? Just keep practicing those small touches.”

Eventually, you started to get the hang of it, and Wooyoung suggested a simple game. “Let’s see if you can get past me and score a goal.”

A bit of your initial hesitation returned, but you nodded. “Okay, I'll try.”

The two of you began to play more energetically. Wooyoung lets you get the ball first, challenging you to maneuver around him. You were barely managing to keep the ball at your feet, but Wooyoung was always there, offering pointers and occasionally stealing the ball only to pass it back to you with a playful grin.

“Come on, you got this!” he encouraged.

You finally found a rhythm, dribbling the ball toward the goal. Wooyoung stayed close, but he wasn't making it too hard. When you took a shot and scored, he laughed excitedly and jogged over to you, his hand raised for a high five. “Nice one! That was awesome!”

Surprised, you mimicked his actions, raising your hand awkwardly. When he slapped his palm against yours in a celebratory high five, you were taken aback by the simple but genuine gesture.

“See? You're getting the hang of it,” he said, his eyes shining with pride.

The game continued, each moment building on the last, with both of you enjoying the newfound experience and the simple act of playing for fun. As the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the field, you realized that for the first time in a long while, you were genuinely enjoying yourself.

For once, you were nobody.

—

You haven’t talked to Wooyoung days after playing football with him on the field, but you figured it made complete sense for things to be this way. You seem to only run into him during the times you felt like you wanted to be nobody, and at the times when you had to be somebody, he was completely out of your line of sight. Maybe that’s how things are meant to be, so you never really gave it any thought. On a few moments, however, you find yourself wondering if he’s holding out well, but you don’t quite understand why. You’ve been telling yourself it’s because you were just a concerned citizen at heart, but even that seems weird.

Unbeknownst to you, the exact same thoughts clouded Wooyoung’s mind. Whenever he and his team would conduct a practice match on the field, he’d find himself occasionally stealing glances at the bleachers, sighing to himself when he’s met with an empty sight. He doesn’t know why, but after spending a day being nobody with you, he figured those days would occur more often afterwards, so that’s precisely why he feels disappointed whenever he doesn’t see you sitting by the bleachers.

Opening your locker, you were about to reach for a textbook piled on top of others of its same kind yet covering different subject areas, but it wasn’t until you heard a laugh that was too familiar to you for your liking erupt from the end of the halls that you stopped dead in your motion, making Yeosang let out a confused hum.

“What’s up?”

You didn’t mutter out anything for an answer, immediately turning your head towards the direction you heard his voice from. And there he was, laughing loudly with his clapping hands echoing throughout the almost quiet surroundings while Mingi and San, who stood by either of his sides, seemed to have been cracking jokes back and forth.

The moment his eyes met yours, however, he was quicker than a millisecond to shut his mouth and forget just what exactly did Mingi respond to San’s awfully executed joke that made him laugh way more than he was probably supposed to. San, noticing the shift in his behavior, nudged his shoulder.

“What’s in your mind?”

Both you and Wooyoung avert your eyes from each other, you aggressively closing your locker shut before turning your attention back to Yeosang, whereas Wooyoung simply waved his hands off towards San.

“Nothing,” you both said in unison, unbeknownst to one another.

You were nearly losing your mind trying to figure out just how much you really knew yourself. You had told Yeosang nothing was up—but somehow, part of you refuses to come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t the truth at all and was just something you wished you really meant.

Something was up, but you couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was.

“Nothing, huh?” Yeosang teased, eyeing you with a skeptical look. “Well, you better mean that because we can’t afford to have any distractions in our way this week.”

“This week?” You leaned against your locker with your brows furrowed ever so slightly.

“Yeah, it’s not like there’s anything new about that. We’re always busy at this very same week during this very same month every year,” he shrugged, making the left side of his jacket fall off on his shoulder, assuming you were only playing around.

“No, wait, Yeosang. What’s up?” you inquired, sounding genuinely curious—which caught him off guard.

“No way. Have you forgotten what always happens during this time of the year?”

“Clearly…?”

“The Autumn Harmony Festival. Any bells ringing in your head now?”

Ah, right.

Every year, the university holds a grand festival known as the “Autumn Harmony Festival.” It’s a long-standing tradition, celebrating the unity and diversity of the student body. The festival spans an entire weekend, featuring a variety of events that cater to different interests. There are music performances from student bands, dance shows, art exhibitions, food stalls representing cuisines from around the world, and games with prizes. Clubs and organizations set up booths to showcase their activities and recruit new members. The festival’s highlight is the cultural parade, where students wear traditional attire from their respective backgrounds, creating a vibrant and colorful spectacle. It's a time when the entire campus comes alive with laughter, music, and the aroma of delicious food wafting through the air. The event not only provides a break from academic pressures but also fosters a sense of community and belonging among the students.

“Oh,” you mused, eyes scanning the entire hallway. “Right.”

Yeosang audibly gasped—you’re unsure if he did it playfully or if he was seriously offended that you forgot about the annual festival, placing a hand on his hip. “Yeah, right. You seriously forgot?”

“Well…” you trailed off, sheepishly rubbing your nape. “I’ve been pretty busy, so I guess that’s why I kinda forgot about it.”

“Busy with what?”

That, you cannot answer. Not because you didn’t want to, yet rather because you had no idea how to. Was being busy due to your never ending thoughts even a valid reason to begin with?

“Just… things.”

“These things could either scale from being busy with your schoolwork to being busy with hunting down each football team within the shadows, so I’m just gonna pretend I never asked you what you’re busy with in the first place.”

“Do you actually think I’m capable of doing that?” you asked, mildly offended.

“Well, you never know which people here on campus would end up harboring murder tendencies on a random day,” he shrugged.

“I think we should just go back to talking about the festival before any passersby start looking at us weirdly.”

“Yeah, we probably should,” Yeosang agreed, looking around the halls. “Well, the journalism club will be having a meeting about it later today,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

Yeosang gave you a knowing look. “You have the group chat on mute, remember? You don’t quite like everyone there other than me.”

“Oh, right,” you mumbled, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I forgot about that.”

Time passed quickly, and soon it was time for the journalism club meeting. You and Yeosang hurriedly headed to the club’s office, ready to discuss the festival coverage and immediately settling down the moment you both stepped foot inside.

“Alright,” Mr. Kim began speaking, clasping his hands together. “As you all know, the Autumn Harmony Festival is right around the corner. You might be wondering why conducting a meeting about it is necessary, but here’s the catch—for this year’s festival, the student council has bigger plans than usual, although they’re struggling with making all of it come true as they are quite short of people who can help them out. So…”

Silence engulfed the room, and by looking at everyone’s expressions alone, you could easily tell that they all knew where Mr. Kim was headed.

“The student council president, Karina, reached out to me to ask if we could lend them a hand. Of course, our duties and theirs do not differ that much from each other, so I figured accepting their proposal would not be a bad decision. That being said, we will be busier for the next few weeks. But of course, that doesn’t mean we’ll push our responsibilities to the side. We still need to publish an article the day after the festival, so I’m gonna need all of you to stay until the very last second of the event to document everything.”

You pursed your lips, hoping there wouldn’t be a further catch.

But much to your dismay, Mr. Kim continued speaking. “And for this year’s article, I’ve decided that our lead photojournalist will be the main one to cover the event.”

So much for wanting to stay in the shadows for once.

Just then, a noticeable shift occurred in the room. Eyebrows were raised, eyes were rolled, quiet sighs were released, and even few members exchanged knowing glances. No one said anything outright, but you could sense the undercurrent of resentment. You had always been observant, and this moment was no exception.

Suddenly, one of the members, Minjae, a junior who has always held a competitive soul, couldn’t contain his frustration. “Why is it always her?" he burst out, standing up as everyone turned their eyes towards him. “Every big assignment, it’s always her. What about the rest of us? Are we just not good enough?”

Yeosang quickly stood up to intervene. “Minjae, sit down. Now’s not the time—”

You gently tugged Yeosang back, making him sit down. He looked at you, confusion and concern etched on his face, but you met his gaze with a blank expression and a slight shake of your head, silently telling him to let Minjae continue speaking.

Mr. Kim tried to interject as well, “Minjae, this is not the way to handle—”

But he continued, ignoring Mr. Kim. “She acts like she’s better than all of us just because she takes good photos and aces her classes. It’s ridiculous! She’s not even a team player. She’s just Mr. Kim’s favorite. It’s like she’s the only one who matters. We’re all working hard here, but we never get the same recognition. Maybe if she shared the spotlight, we’d have a chance to show what we can do, too! If she actually bothered to socialize or help others instead of hogging all the work, we wouldn’t feel this way. But no, she’s too busy being the perfect little photojournalist, right?”

The final straw snapped. You slammed your hands on the table, the sound reverberating through the eerily silent room. Standing up abruptly, you walked over to Minjae and slapped him across the face. The force of the slap left a stinging red mark on his cheek, and everyone gasped, wide-eyed and shocked.

With venom in your voice, you finally spoke, “Maybe if you actually bothered to do your work properly, then I wouldn’t have to butt in to mend your mistakes every single time. You think I want to be here fixing your half-assed efforts? Think again. I do what I do because I care about this publication and our reputation. You, on the other hand, are too busy whining instead of actually contributing anything meaningful. You talk about being a team player? All you ever do is complain and shirk responsibility. You think you deserve the spotlight? Prove it. Until then, keep your mouth shut.”

Minjae stood there, stunned, unable to respond as you turned on your heel and walked out of the room. Yeosang quickly followed, but not before casting a scathing look at the others. “I hope you’re happy with what you’ve done,” he said, voice low and filled with disappointment.

Minjae, nursing his cheek, looked at Mr. Kim. “She hit me. There has to be some offense for that!”

Mr. Kim remained silent for a moment, then simply said, “Sit down, Minjae.”

Yeosang caught up with you in the hallway, gently tugging your arm. "Hey, wait up."

You shooed his hand away, turning around to face him calmly. “Go back to the office, please.”

He shook his head, concern etched on his face. “I’m not leaving you alone after that. You need someone right now.”

You sighed, a mix of frustration and exhaustion in your eyes. “But what if I want to be alone? What if that’s what I need?”

Yeosang hesitated but tried again. “I get that, but I can’t just—”

You gently pushed his shoulder back, giving it an affirming squeeze to let him know you weren’t mad at him. “Just leave me be for now, Yeo. I promise I’ll come by when I’m feeling lighter.”

He looked into your eyes, searching for any sign of anger towards him, but found none. With a reluctant nod, he pulled out a tiny crocheted voodoo doll with a keychain attached to it from his pocket. “Here, take this. In a way, you’ll still have me with you.”

You vividly recall him crocheting the doll during one of your sleepovers back in high school and being absolutely freaked out when you saw it hung by your ceiling fan the morning after. You still have no idea why he chose to crochet a voodoo doll out of everything else back then to this date—but then again, Yeosang has always been full of surprises, so much so to the point you’ve eventually learned to expect the unexpected from him at all times.

“You still have this?” you mused, hooking your index finger through the keychain and lifting it up.

“I thought it could be useful someday,” Yeosang shrugged. “Just… promise me you’ll let me know once you’re feeling better, alright?”

“I will, I promise.” You gave him an affirming nod before turning your heel, your form gradually decreasing in his point of view the further you walked away. You and your well-being meant the whole world to him, and he could only hope you felt the same way about yourself, too.

You don’t know where your feet are leading you, but the next thing you knew the moment you snapped out of your thoughts was that your line of sight was filled with greenery matched with the bright blue sky. The tranquility of the field provided a stark contrast to the tension you felt inside. You found a secluded spot on the bleachers and sat down, trying to clear your mind.

Just as you began to relax, a familiar voice broke the silence. “Hey, stranger.”

You looked up to see Wooyoung standing there, a warm smile on his face. He held a football under his arm.

“Wooyoung,” you said, your voice coming off as mildly surprised. “What are you doing here?”

He gestured to the rest of his team entering the field one by one. “We’re having a practice match.”

“Oh, right. Makes sense,” you replied, though your voice lacked its usual steadiness.

Wooyoung’s smile faded as he noticed the shift in your demeanor. To others, your expression might seem no different from usual, but somehow, Wooyoung could easily tell something was up. “What’s the matter?” he asked gently.

You shook your head lightly. “Nothing. Go to the field. It looks like your teammates are waiting for you.”

He glanced at his teammates, then back at you. “Stay here. I’ll make sure we finish practice early.”

Confused, you asked, “Why?”

“Just... stay, alright? Don’t leave.”

With that, Wooyoung ran off to join his team. San was the first to notice something different. “What were you talking about?” he asked, with skepticism in his voice.

For once, Wooyoung didn’t play along with their teasing. “Let’s start the match,” he said to Hongjoong, his tone more serious than usual. Everyone noticed the shift in Wooyoung’s behavior, but no one dared to say anything.

As you remained seated on the bleachers, you watched Wooyoung and his team practice. The rhythmic thud of the ball and the shouts of the players filled the air, providing a temporary distraction from the turmoil in your mind. You replayed Mark’s words over and over, each repetition cutting deeper. Despite knowing he had no right to say those things, his accusations hurt more than you cared to admit.

Were you really stealing their spotlight? Was it wrong to take charge because no one else seemed up for it? Was trying to be enough, too much?

Wooyoung stole glances at you throughout the match, his concern evident. You noticed but pretended not to, focusing on the game as if it could somehow drown out your thoughts.

When the match ended, Jongho suggested going out to eat. “I’ll pass,” Wooyoung said, catching everyone off guard.

“Why?” Hongjoong asked, his confusion mirrored by the rest of the team as it was a first for him to reject such a proposal.

Wooyoung’s gaze shifted momentarily towards you. “There are things more important that I want to prioritize.”

The team exchanged skeptical looks but knew better than to pry. Seonghwa glanced at you briefly, then turned back to Wooyoung with a knowing smile—one he didn’t quite catch. “You’re free to catch up if you want.”

After the rest of the team left the field, he was quick to run towards where you sat. “Hey,” he said softly, slightly out of breath. “Mind if I sit?” You wordlessly nodded, shifting slightly to give him space.

“So… what’s wrong?” he asked, his tone gentle.

Slowly, you turned to him, your eyes reflecting the confusion and hurt you felt inside. “Am I too much, Wooyoung?”

His eyes widened slightly at your question, a mix of surprise and concern crossing his face. He took a deep breath, clearly wanting to choose his words carefully.

“Why would you think that?” Wooyoung asked softly, concern lacing his voice.

You fidgeted with the voodoo doll keychain in your hands, finding it difficult to articulate the storm inside you. “It’s... complicated.”

Wooyoung could sense your struggle, and for a moment, you felt a ghost of his touch on the back of your shoulders, but it left just as quick as it appeared. “Hey, take your time. You don’t have to rush it all out.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing thoughts. “Earlier today... in the journalism office, something happened. We were discussing our plans for the upcoming Autumn Harmony Festival, and Mr. Kim chose me to be the main one to cover the event. And…”

“And?” Wooyoung prompted, listening intently.

Your voice wavered as you spoke. “I don’t want to give away any details, but someone said really hurtful things. They accused me of... hogging the spotlight, of not being a team player. They said I act like I’m better than everyone else.”

Wooyoung’s expression darkened, though he remained silent, letting you continue.

“It made me question everything. Am I really doing the right thing for the club? Is caring about our reputation so wrong? I’ve always thought I was helping, but maybe... I don’t know, maybe I’ve been doing it all wrong. My mind’s a total mess and I just—”

Your voice broke, and tears started to well up in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, but the emotional weight was too much. Wooyoung watched you with a mixture of empathy and anger, his heart aching for you while a burning rage simmered inside him at the thought of someone hurting you like this—he doesn’t quite understand why he feels this way.

“I... I just don’t know anymore,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you started to cry.

Wooyoung’s heart clenched at the sight of your tears. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said gently. “Can I… can I hug you?”

You wordlessly nodded, and he immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. The warmth of his embrace was comforting, and you buried your face in his shoulder, letting the tears flow freely.

“It’s okay,” he whispered soothingly, rubbing your back. “You’re allowed to feel this way. Let it all out.”

You clung to the fabric of his shirt, sobbing quietly as he continued to hold you, offering silent support. His presence was a calming anchor in the turbulent sea of your emotions. For a few moments, neither of you spoke.

Wooyoung’s thoughts raced. Who would ever have the nerve to speak such words to you when you were one of the most hardworking people he’s ever known? But for now, he focused on comforting you, letting you know that you weren’t alone.

When your sobs finally began to subside, he pulled back slightly to look at you, immediately taking his hand off your shoulder the moment he took note of the proximity. “You are not too much, alright? You’ll never be,” he said firmly. “You’re doing the right thing by caring about the club and its reputation. Don’t let anyone make you doubt that. You’re dedicated and passionate, and that’s something to be proud of.”

You looked into his eyes, and you swore you’ve never felt so seen before.

Wooyoung brushed a stray tear from your cheek and asked softly, “Do you mind telling me who it was?”

You looked at him, your brow furrowing slightly. “Why?” He hesitated, then shrugged lightly. “I’m just… curious, y’know.”

You sighed, glancing away for a moment. “Do you know anyone named Minjae?” Wooyoung nodded. “Oh, yeah, I do. You get to know a lot of people when you’re well-known around school—kinda like a package deal, if you think about it.”

You bit the inside of your cheek debating whether to say more or to just leave things as is. Finally, you sighed once more and said, “It was him.”

Wooyoung’s expression darkened slightly, but he simply nodded. “I see.”

He didn’t press further, sensing that you needed a break from the topic. Instead, he pointed at the voodoo doll keychain in your hands with a curious and somewhat mildly horrified look. “What’s the doll for?”

“So, you see…”

The following day, you walked into the journalism office, still feeling the emotional remnants of yesterday’s confrontation. As you opened the door, expecting the usual hustle and bustle, you were met with a surprising sight: Minjae, diligently working at his desk.

He looked up when he heard the door and, catching your eye, gave a small, somewhat awkward nod before returning to his work. You stood there for a moment, processing the scene. It was strange seeing him so focused, especially after what had happened.

Yeosang, noticing your surprise, walked over to you. “Hey, you okay?”

You nodded slowly, still staring at Minjae. “Yeah, just... surprised, I guess.”

He followed your gaze and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, it’s a bit unusual, isn’t it? Maybe yesterday had more of an impact than we thought.”

You turned to him, a mix of confusion and curiosity in your eyes. “Do you think... do you think he’s actually trying to make up for what he said?”

Yeosang shrugged. “It’s possible. Sometimes people just need a wake-up call.”

As you moved further into the office and sat down at your desk, you couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty. Minjae working diligently was a stark contrast to his usual behavior, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this change would last.

Yet for now, you decided to focus on your own work, letting the events of the previous day serve as a reminder that even when things seem overwhelmingly difficult, there can still be moments of unexpected change. And perhaps, just perhaps, this was one of those moments—well, hopefully.

As the lunch break bell rang a while later, you gathered your things, ready to head to the cafeteria with Yeosang. Just as you were about to leave the office, Minjae called out, “Hey, can you stay behind for a bit?”

You glanced at Yeosang, who raised an eyebrow in confusion. With a slight shrug, you nodded towards the door. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up with you later.”

Yeosang gave Minjae a curious look before turning back to you. “I’ll be waiting at our usual spot,” he said, and with that, only you and Mark were left inside the room.

Turning to Minjae, you asked, “What’s the matter?”

Minjae took a deep breath, his eyes filled with sincerity. “I just… I want to apologize. For, y’know, everything. For all the things I said, for being a slacker, for misjudging you, for not doing my work. I’ve been a terrible team member and an even worse person. I let my insecurities and frustrations get the best of me, and I took it out on you. I was wrong, and I’m truly sorry. I’ve realized that I’ve been hiding behind my complaints instead of actually contributing and taking responsibility. You’ve been carrying the weight for all of us, and instead of appreciating your efforts, I resented you for it. I want to make it right. I’m going to start doing my part and prove that I can be better. Please, forgive me.”

You stood there, silent, processing his words. And you’re not sure if it’s due to the office’s painfully blinding fluorescent lights, but he looked like he had just gotten a black eye and covered it up with a mismatching shade of concealer. There was a little cut on the right corner of his lips, too.

After a few seconds, you let out a soft sigh. “I don’t need you to apologize, Minjae. I need you to take accountability for your actions. The words you’ve just said right now won’t mean a thing if you don’t keep the consistency of your efforts.”

Minjae nodded, clearly moved by your response. “I understand. I will. Thank you for giving me a chance.”

Just as you were about to leave, you paused and turned back to him. “And don’t be too comfortable with misjudging people. You, too, have a side within you that you don’t want to show people, don’t you? That’s the same case for everyone else. If what you did to me had been done to you, would you like it?”

Minjae’s eyes widened slightly as he absorbed your words. “No, I wouldn’t,” he admitted quietly. With a final nod, you turned and left the office.

Little did you know that Wooyoung had been standing just right outside the office door, listening in on your conversation.

Reaching the cafeteria, your eyes searched the crowded space for the familiar sight of Yeosang’s curly brown hair, sighing in relief when you spotted him sitting at your usual table positioned right beside the windows.

The moment you walked towards him, he wasted no time in interrogating you. “So… what was that about?”

“You tell me,” you sighed. “Who would have thought I’d hear such words from Minjae himself?”

“Why? What did he tell you back in the office?” he asked, resting both of his elbows on the table, slightly leaning forward in curiosity.

“Well, to start off, he apologized for being a slacker. Days within this university really are filled with surprises.” You shook your head, gazing out the window.

“You want me to believe your narrative that the Kim Minjae apologized for being a slacker?” Yeosang raised an eyebrow, skeptical of whether you were telling the truth or just making up blatant lies. Well, it’s not like you could blame him, anyway.

You shrugged. “I couldn’t believe it either, honestly. I mean, it’s good that he seems to be taking the very first few steps to turning over a new leaf now, but it was… weird, nevertheless. You know him well enough to know what happened yesterday couldn’t have possibly been enough for him to feel bad.”

Yeosang rubbed his chin with a finger, deep in thought. “Makes sense. Maybe someone else knocked some sense into his head?”

“And by who, exactly? That’s just downright ridiculous,” you shot him a questioning look, turning your head to the side ever so slightly when you heard the sound of Wooyoung’s laughter from the cafeteria’s entrance.

It was only then that you realized Yeosang still doesn’t have a single clue that your perception of Wooyoung had done a full 180 ever since you interviewed him for your publication’s magazine. It wasn’t that you didn’t want him to know about it, yet rather, you simply felt like it would be unnecessary to bring it up. Wooyoung doesn’t have that big of a role in your life—or at least that’s what you keep telling yourself—anyway, so why should it matter?

“Well, it’s just a theory,” Yeosang defended himself. “Anyway, if—and only if, Minjae is actually planning on being consistent with his growth, then that means the weight you have to carry for the sake of our publication will gradually decrease. That’s a good thing, especially considering the festival is only a few weeks away,” he beamed.

“Our, Yeo, our. I don’t think you’re aware of how much you’ve helped me with handling my responsibilities,” you said, tilting your head lightly. “You’re a great person, you know? You should give yourself more credit.”

Yeosang awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing how to respond to your kind words. “Well, I mean, you’re my best friend. It’s only right for me to lend you a hand when it’s due,” he shrugged.

“I just told you to give yourself more credit and here you are doing the complete opposite,” you said, sighing.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the cafeteria, Wooyoung and the rest of the football team were sitting together, their conversation lively and full of energy—as usual.

“Anyone else hyped about the Autumn Harmony Festival?” Seonghwa asked, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed smile, a half-bitten sandwich in his hand.

“That’s gotta be me right here,” Mingi replied, grinning. “The festival’s always a blast. The food, the music, everything’s just awesome. I can’t wait to find out what they have in store for this year’s celebration.”

Hongjoong nodded in agreement. “Same here. I mean, last year’s festival was nothing short of absolute perfection, y’know? I wonder how they’ll top it off.”

“Don’t forget the championship game that’s only a week after the festival ends, though,” Jongho added. “We need to make sure we’re ready for that, too.”

“True, true,” Yunho agreed. “We’ve been training hard recently, but we can’t be complacent. We can’t slack off just because we have a festival in between.”

“Speaking of the festival,” San chimed in after leaning towards Seonghwa to gobble the remaining half of his sandwich. “What’s your favorite part of it? For me, it’s always the fireworks. There’s something magical about them.”

“This was only done last year, but my favorite’s gotta be Dilettante’s surprise dance performance,” Hongjoong said with a smile.

“Now that you’ve brought it up, that’s one of my favorite parts from last year’s festival, too. Suddenly seeing Yunho on stage after wondering why he was gone for the whole day gave me goosebumps,” San agreed, making Yunho shyly scratch his head.

“It would’ve been way cooler if Seonghwa was up there with me, though,” Yunho said, nudging Seonghwa who sat between him and San.

While everyone was agreeing with Yunho’s statement—save for Wooyoung who had been awfully quiet for a while now, Seonghwa was quick to brush them all off. “I don’t have the spirit for dancing anymore, so let’s just leave it at that.”

“But if we’re talking about our favorite moments in the festival, it would be the atmosphere at night for me. Everything feels so alive—and the couples walking around holding hands, too,” Seonghwa added. “It’s kind of cute, seeing everyone so happy and in love.”

Mingi nodded. “Yeah, the festival is definitely a romantic place. It’s like the perfect setting for a date.”

At the mention of a date, Wooyoung’s thoughts immediately drifted to you. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to spend the festival with you. His eyes shifted across the cafeteria to where you were sitting with Yeosang, engrossed in a conversation. You must have felt his eyes on you, for you glanced up and met his stare. Caught off guard, Wooyoung quickly looked away, focusing back on his friends.

“There’s something about festivals that just brings out the romance in people,” Yunho mused. “The music, the lights, the whole vibe. It’s like you’re in a different world.”

“Exactly,” San agreed. “And you know what? Sometimes, it’s not about having someone special to spend it with. Just being in that atmosphere makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

“You guys are getting all sappy,” Jongho teased, but there was a wide smile on his face. “But yeah, I get it. There’s a certain charm to it all.”

“Hey, Woo,” Seonghwa said, turning to Wooyoung. “You’ve been awfully quiet. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Wooyoung shrugged, playing it off. “Just thinking about some stuff.”

San, however, knew him too well to buy his excuse. Leaning closer, he asked, “Does this ‘stuff’ involve a certain someone, maybe?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes but chuckled. “Nah, just got a lot on my mind with the festival and the game coming up.”

Jongho nudged him. “Well, since that’s what we’re talking about right now, what’s your favorite part of the festival?”

Wooyoung thought for a moment. “I’d say the food stalls. There’s always something new to try, and it’s fun just walking around and tasting different things.”

Jongho nudged him again. “Speaking of which, who do you plan on spending the festival with?” Wooyoung shrugged, acting unbothered. “I don’t know. I’ll probably spend it alone.”

Yet he said so with a fragment of you appearing in his mind.

And almost as if by fate, Yunho suggested, “What about the head photojournalist?”

Wooyoung’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“You know,” Yunho said, eyes twinkling. “The head photojournalist. You guys would look cute together.”

“Totally. Imagine the fireworks reflecting in your eyes as you both stare at them,” Mingi added, his tone dreamy. “It’s like a scene straight out of a movie.”

“And then she goes to capture that perfect moment,” Hongjoong laughed. “Only to realize she’s part of the story.”

Wooyoung brushed them off, his cheeks warming. “You guys sound absolutely ridiculous. What are you, teenage girls?”

Yet despite his comment, they weren’t ready to drop the topic at all. They sensed an opportunity to have some fun at his expense and were eager to exploit it.

“You know, Woo, it’s not exactly ridiculous for us to think you’d look cute together,” Yunho said, grinning. “There’s definitely some chemistry there.”

San nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, and think about it—she’s got that whole serious, focused vibe, and you’re the total opposite. It’s like a perfect balance. You’d bring out the fun side in her.”

Hearing the way San described you just made him realize he knows a part of you you’d never reveal to others—and he was someone you trusted enough to show him that part.

“And she’d probably help you stay out of trouble,” Jongho added with a laugh. “You need someone who can keep you in check, Woo. Plus, you can’t deny that you’re always a bit more... animated when you talk about her.”

“Not to mention, you literally have a nickname dedicated to her. You know, photo girl.” Hongjoong teased, making everyone laugh. Wooyoung shook his head, trying to hide a smile. “You guys are reading way too much into this.”

“Come on, Woo,” Seonghwa said, playfully nudging him. “You’ve got to admit there’s something there. Enemies to lovers is a classic trope for a reason. It’s all about the tension and the eventual realization that you actually care about each other.”

“Slowburn would probably be more fitting. It’s not enemies to lovers when she’s the only one who hates him.”

Do you, though?

Yunho’s eyes widened in mock excitement. “Think about the moment when you both realize you’re more than just rivals. The looks on your faces would be priceless.”

Mingi joined in, over the moon that Yunho gets his vision. “And the festival is the perfect setting for that kind of realization. All the romantic vibes, the lights, the music…”

“And then there’s the fireworks,” Hongjoong added, his voice taking on a dreamy quality. “The perfect backdrop for a confession.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes but couldn’t help laughing at their enthusiasm. “You guys need to snap out of it.”

Seonghwa shrugged. “Maybe, but you can’t deny we’re onto something.”

“You’re not onto something—you’re on something.”

San wasn’t convinced, though. “Sure, sure. But let’s be real—if you were to be asked who you want to spend the festival with, she’s the first person who comes to mind, right?”

Wooyoung hesitated, his gaze briefly flickering to you before returning to his friends. “I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Then think about it.”

And he did.

—

As the weekend approached, you found yourself diving headfirst into preparations for the Autumn Harmony Festival alongside Yeosang, Minjae—surprisingly so, and the rest of the journalism club. The gymnasium buzzed with the sounds of laughter and chatter as you all worked together to bring the student council's vision to life. Paper lanterns hung from the rafters, colorful banners accentuated the walls, and tables were adorned with bright flower arrangements.

You were paired up with Karina, the student council president, who took you under her wing, guiding you through the handful of processes of creating the decorations. She showed you how to fold paper into elegant origami shapes, demonstrating each step with precision and grace.

“Alright, so first, you fold the paper in half like this,” Karina explained, her hands moving deftly as she demonstrated the technique. “Then, you fold the corners in towards the center, like so.”

You watched closely, mimicking her movements as you tried to keep up with her expertise. Despite your initial apprehension, Karina’s patient guidance put you at ease, and soon you found yourself getting into the rhythm of the task.

As you both worked, Karina couldn’t help but notice Minjae's uncharacteristically diligent efforts. She turned to you with a curious expression, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What’s gotten into Minjae? He’s usually not one to work so hard.”

You glanced over at Minjae, who was engrossed in arranging flowers with a focused expression. “You know Minjae?” you asked, surprised by the revelation.

Karina nodded with a chuckle. "Of course. He's the younger brother of my girlfriend, Minjeong. And let me tell you, he’s definitely not known for his work ethic.”

You shrugged, shaking your head in amusement. “I guess he just got a wake-up call,” you mused, turning your attention back to folding a paper origami.

As the day wore on, fatigue began to set in, and you found yourself longing for a break. Glancing over at Yeosang, who was focused on his own task, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of hunger.

“Hey, are you hungry?” you asked, interrupting his concentration.

Yeosang looked up, a tired but grateful smile gracing his lips. “Yeah, I could go for a snack.”

You nodded in agreement, feeling a sudden craving for something salty and sweet. “I’ll go grab us some snacks from the convenience store down the street. Be right back.”

After informing Karina you’ll be off for a while to buy some snacks and asking her if she wanted anything from the convenience store as well, you set off on your own, the cool breeze outside a welcome relief from the stuffy gymnasium. As you walked, your mind wandered, thoughts of the festival and the tasks ahead swirling in your head.

The moment you entered the convenience store, the familiar chime of the door greeted you, signaling your arrival. Your first task was to find the ramen Karina had requested, scanning the aisles until you spotted the familiar packaging. With the ramen now in hand, you moved on to gather snacks for yourself and Yeosang.

Peeking through an aisle, your eyes widened slightly in surprise when you spotted a familiar figure browsing the shelves nearby.

“Wooyoung?”

His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, a warm smile immediately spreading across his face as he recognized you. “Hey there,” he greeted, making his way over to you. “Whatcha doin’ here?”

You shrugged, gesturing to the items in your hands. “Just picking up some snacks for myself and Yeosang. We’re helping with the festival preparations for the Autumn Harmony Festival.”

“Preparations? What’s the journalism publication gotta do with that?” Wooyoung tilted his head, sounding genuinely curious. Well, you couldn’t exactly blame him.

“The student council president reached out to Mr. Kim a while ago to ask if we could lend them a helping hand since their plans for this year’s festival are bigger compared to the past few years, and they’re a bit short on people to be able to work on it by themselves—hence why a meeting was held a few days ago,” you explained. Upon processing your words, Wooyoung started to slowly nod his head.

“Asking for help is definitely a first for the student council. I wonder what they have in store this year…” he trailed off, picking his words back up after coming to a realization. “Hold on. You’re helping them out with the preparations, right?”

But you were quick to catch on what he was implying, responding by simply shaking your head. “No, Wooyoung. Any details about the festival are strictly confidential. I’m afraid you’ll just have to wait until the event takes place.”

He whined in disappointment, and for a fleeting moment, you found yourself mildly amused.

“But there’s still two weeks left… you can’t even tell me what the theme for this year’s festival is?” he said, trying to persuade you into giving at least a crumb of information.

Yet all you did was shake your head once more. “Confidential means confidential. I’m sure what the student council has in store will cater to your liking, though.”

“Really? Why?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.

You brushed him off, still refusing to share any details. “Just trust me on this one.”

It wasn’t completely a lie. A few days ago, when Karina was briefing the journalism club about the festival plans, your immediate thought was, “Oh, that sounds like something Wooyoung would have fun with.” You had no idea why, but it was all you could think of. You imagined how wide the smile on his face would look under the glow of the light decorations. The thought of him enjoying the festivities filled you with an unexpected warmth, and you couldn’t help but look forward to seeing his reaction.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed, snapping you out of your thoughts. It was a message from Yeosang, asking what was taking you so long. Quickly, you typed out a response and shoved the phone back into your pocket.

“What’s up?” Wooyoung asked, noticing the slight shift in your demeanor.

“Yeosang’s looking for me. I should probably get back,” you said, a hint of reluctance in your voice.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, hesitant to bid farewell. There was an awkward silence between you, both seemingly unsure of why parting felt so difficult.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around,” you finally said, eager to break the silence.

“Right, yeah, see you,” Wooyoung replied, and for some reason, you had a feeling the smile on his face as he bid you farewell was forced.

As you turned to leave, you felt his gaze lingering on you. Through the glass wall of the convenience store, he watched you cross the street, a thoughtful expression on his face. Wooyoung was eventually snapped out of his reverie when his phone buzzed with a message from Hongjoong, reminding him of what specific brand and flavor of chips he wanted him to buy. Staring at the message notification blankly, he let out a soft sigh and turned his phone off, once again looking through the glass wall, only to find you no longer in his line of sight.

Returning to the gymnasium, you handed Karina the ramen she requested. “Here you go,” you said.

Karina looked up from the paper decorations she was working on, accepting the ramen with a grateful smile. “Thanks a lot! This tastes perfect. You should definitely try it out sometime.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” You nodded, making your way over to where Yeosang was sitting cross-legged on the gymnasium floor. He looked up as you approached, a curious expression on his face. “What took you so long?”

You shrugged casually, setting down the snacks. “I happened to cross paths with Wooyoung in the convenience store.”

Yeosang’s eyes widened in surprise. "Wait, what? Where’s the usual ‘I-hate-Wooyoung-so-much-he-never-fails-to-ruin-my-day’ energy?”

You stared at him blankly, genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

Yeosang blinked at you, as if trying to process your words. “You don’t hate him anymore? What happened?”

You paused, reflecting on the question. What has changed? It wasn’t that long ago when even just the mere mention of Wooyoung’s name would have irked you, sending a wave of annoyance coursing through you. You remembered the countless times you had grumbled about his antics, the way he always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and how his presence always felt like a thorn in your side, always ready to push the weakest of all buttons. But now, the hostility has dissipated, replaced by... something else. Something you couldn’t quite define yet.

The memory of the first time you saw him in a different light flickered in your mind. It was during the interview for the publication’s magazine. Despite your preconceived notions, he had surprised you with his genuine answers, his passion for football, and the unexpected depth in his personality. You had caught a glimpse of a side of him that he didn’t often show to everyone, a side that intrigued you more than you wanted to admit.

Since then, your interactions have taken on a new tone. There were moments of unexpected understanding, brief conversations that revealed layers you never would’ve thought existed. The irritation had slowly melted away, replaced by curiosity and, perhaps, a hint of admiration. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but somewhere along the way, you had started seeing Wooyoung as more than just an annoyance.

Even now, thinking back to your encounter at the convenience store, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth that was distinctly unfamiliar. His smile had been genuine, his questions filled with sincere curiosity. There was no hint of the playful mockery that used to define your exchanges. Instead, there was an ease that had taken you by surprise, a comfort that felt strangely natural.

As you stood there, Yeosang’s question hanging in the air, you realized that your feelings towards Wooyoung had become a complex mix of past grievances and newfound respect. It was confusing, but not entirely unpleasant.

Yeosang’s eyes narrowed in curiosity as he studied your face. “When did this shift happen? You used to be so adamant about how much he annoyed you.” You looked around the gymnasium, thinking back. “It started with the interview I did for the magazine,” you began, finally meeting his gaze. “There was this moment... I asked him a question off the record.”

Yeosang’s eyebrows shot up. “Off the record? What did you ask him?” You shook your head. “I’m not going to tell you that. It was personal, something that wasn’t meant for the article. But his answer... it caught me off guard. It was like I was seeing an entirely new side of him, one that I never thought existed.”

Yeosang leaned forward, intrigued. “What do you mean? What side?”

“I guess I realized we’re not that different, him and I,” you said, your voice softening as you recalled the moment. “He showed me a side of him that’s more thoughtful, more passionate than I ever gave him credit for. It wasn’t that he changed; it’s just that he revealed a part of himself that I hadn’t seen before.”

Yeosang nodded slowly, absorbing your words. “So, simply put, he’s not just the guy who annoys you anymore.”

“No,” you agreed, shaking your head slightly. “He’s more than that. There’s depth to him, layers that he doesn’t show to everyone. And once I saw that... I couldn’t go back to seeing him as just a nuisance—we’re not friends or anything, though. Things are just... different now,” you hesitantly said, trying to put your feelings into words.

Yeosang looked at you with a knowing gaze, a small smile appearing on his lips. He had a feeling there was something more there, something you hadn’t yet noticed. But he decided not to say anything. It would be better for you to explore those feelings on your own, to figure out what they meant without any external pressure.

“Does this mean I no longer have to worry about endlessly persuading you to take pictures of them for my articles?”

“Perchance.”

“You can’t just say perchance…”

—

Wooyoung had recently noticed he hadn’t been seeing you around that often these days. With only two weeks left until the festival, he figured that was probably what had you so busy. During lunch breaks, he no longer saw you and Yeosang at your usual seats in the cafeteria, and you hadn’t been stopping by the field to watch their practice matches, either. Earlier during the afternoon, when he passed by the journalism club’s office, the door was open, and he saw you sitting on the floor, sleeping, resting your body on Yeosang, who sat beside you with his elbows and head down on a chair beside him. You both looked tired, and he knew he had to do something about it.

So here he was in the middle of the night at a convenience store, accompanied by San, whom Wooyoung had forcefully persuaded to come with him by calling his phone again and again.

As they stood in front of the store’s entrance, San yawned and rubbed his eyes. “Remind me again why we’re here on a school night?” Wooyoung brushed him off with a wave of his hand. “Nothing I need to tell you about.”

They walked inside, and Wooyoung immediately started grabbing snacks and drinks off the shelves. San watched him, amused. “What’s with the midnight shopping spree?”

Wooyoung ignored him, focused on searching the aisles. He picked up the same snacks he saw you holding that weekend: two cups of instant ramen, a bag of honey butter chips, and a bottle of iced green tea. He then added a few more of his personal favorites: a pack of strawberry Pocky, some chocolate bars, and a few cans of soda. San watched the pile grow, raising an eyebrow. “Are you buying all these for me?” he joked, nudging Wooyoung’s arm.

Wooyoung shoved him lightly. “You wish.”

He did let San grab a few snacks, though.

At the counter, while Wooyoung was paying, San asked, “Seriously though, who’s this all for? I’ve never seen you so willing to spend so much on snacks that aren’t for you…” Wooyoung avoided his gaze, busying himself with the payment process. San continued, a teasing note in his voice. “... Unless these are for someone-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Wooyoung interjected, handing over the money to the cashier. He grabbed the bags and turned to leave, but San wasn’t letting it go that easily. “Come on, Woo. You’ve been acting weird lately. Is it for her? You know, the one you keep talking about—the head photojournalist, or photo girl, as you like to call her?”

Wooyoung sighed, finally giving San a serious look. “Yes, alright? It’s for her and her friend. They’re overworked with the festival preparations. I thought I’d do something nice.”

San smirked, following him out of the store. “So, what, you’re a secret snack fairy now?”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips curved upward ever so slightly. “I just... I noticed she’s been stressed. It’s no big deal.” San laughed, pushing Wooyoung’s shoulder lightly. “No big deal and yet you’re wide awake by choice at 2 in the morning to buy her snacks, huh?”

The next day, Wooyoung and San were hiding behind a corner wall, waiting eagerly to see how you would react to Wooyoung’s surprise. They were bickering quietly, their whispers sharp but quiet.

“San, seriously, you’re going to blow our cover if you don’t shut up,” Wooyoung hissed, peeking around the corner. “Me? You’re the one who can’t stop fidgeting,” San retorted, nudging Wooyoung with his elbow. “And why did you drag me into this again?”

“Because I need moral support,” Wooyoung replied, rolling his eyes. “Besides, you owe me one for covering for you last week.” San sighed. “Fine, but if we get caught, you’re taking the blame.”

They immediately shut up the moment they saw you walking toward your locker. Yeosang called in sick for today, leaving you to head on your way to the campus all by yourself.

Walking up to your locker and opening it, you were surprised to see an unfamiliar item you don’t quite remember putting inside. It was a medium-sized, square box, wrapped in a vibrant, glossy paper patterned with cartoonish cat faces and tiny hearts. The wrapping was slightly crinkled, giving it a somewhat endearing, handmade feel that hinted at the effort put into it. A pastel-colored ribbon tied into a neat bow decorated the top with its ends curled. The ribbon was dotted with small, glittering stars, adding a touch of sparkle whenever it would catch the light.

Curious, you took it out and opened it, your eyes widening at the sight of the snacks inside—which were just as thoughtfully arranged. Tissue paper in complementary pastel hues cradled the snacks that seem to follow a pattern of being yours and Yeosang’s favorites, along with the other half being a new addition, each sheet carefully fluffed to provide a soft bed for the treats.

Examining the box once more in hopes of finding a clue of who it could be from, you checked the lid, spotting a black, cat-shaped sticky note attached to it, the edges carefully cut to resemble pointed ears, and a cheerful cat face drawn with exaggerated features, large eyes, and a tiny, upturned mouth. The sticky note bore a handwritten message: “What did the ocean say to the beach? Nothing, they just waved.” At the very bottom of the note was a poorly drawn ocean waving to the beach with a smile. From their hiding spot, Wooyoung watched intently, his heart pounding in anticipation. When he saw your lips curl up ever so slightly at the cheesy pick-up line, his eyes widened in surprise and delight.

“Did you see that?” he whispered excitedly, a bit too loudly. “She smiled. She actually smiled!” San raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I have eyes, you know. You’re acting like it’s the first time she’s ever smiled.”

Wooyoung turned to San, his expression almost giddy. “That’s because it is! Well, at least the first time because of me. She never smiles, San. Never. And I made her smile!”

San chuckled, shaking his head. "You’re really smitten, aren’t you?" Wooyoung’s eyes widened, and he shook his head violently. “Smitten? No way. I’m just... happy I made her smile. That’s all.”

San smirked, clearly unconvinced. “Sure, sure. Keep telling yourself that. You’re totally smitten, dude.” Wooyoung glared at San. “I’m not. Have you ever heard of this thing called trying to be nice?”

San rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay. Keep living in denial. But just so you know, this whole ‘trying to be nice’ thing? It’s a classic symptom of being smitten.” Wooyoung crossed his arms, determined to stick to his story. “I’m not in denial because there’s nothing to deny. I’m just doing a good deed.”

San shrugged, a knowing smile on his face. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, man. But if this is how you’re going to act every time she smiles, you might as well get used to it. You’ll have to come up with something bigger next time.”

As you walked back to the office with the box of snacks, Wooyoung watched you go, a satisfied smile on his face. San clapped him on the back, shaking his head in amusement. “Denial or not, you’re totally whipped.”

Wooyoung ignored him, still basking in the small victory of making you smile. “Let’s just get back to class.” San laughed, but he didn’t push the matter further, deciding to let Wooyoung come to terms with his feelings in his own time. “Sure thing, Romeo.”

Entering the office, you find only Karina there, humming softly as she arranged some newly made decorations. The office is a bit cluttered, with props and decor for the festival neatly stacked and stored to avoid any damage. Everyone else has already headed to their respective classes, but your professor had announced in your group chat that he would be late today, so you weren’t in any rush.

Karina looked up as you walked in, her eyes immediately catching sight of the brightly decorated box in your hands. “Hey there,” she greeted with a smile. “Didn’t know you had a lovergirl spirit in you.”

You felt your cheeks warm up at her comment but let your shoulders relax after hearing her voice, feeling at ease with her presence. Over the days you’ve spent making preparations for the festival alongside the student council members, you’ve found yourself to grow fond of her—and so did she with both you and Yeosang. “It’s not like that,” you say, placing the box on a nearby table. “I don’t even know who the box is from.”

This piqued her interest, and she stopped what she’s doing to give you her full attention. “Really? A secret admirer, huh?” She raised an eyebrow, her tone playful. You shrugged, feeling a bit curious yourself. “I wouldn’t say that... There wasn’t any name on it, just a note.”

Karina’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Well, why don’t you take a look through the box? Maybe there are some clues inside.” You glance at the box, then back at Karina. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to check.”

With that, she walked over, peeking into the box as you opened it again. The snacks and little trinkets inside are arranged with such care that it gives you a strange, warm feeling. Karina lets out a low whistle. “Wow, someone went all out. This looks really thoughtful.”

You nodded, still feeling a bit stunned by the whole thing. “Yeah, it does.”

Karina picked up one of the snacks, examining it. “Half of these are your favorites, right? And some of Yeosang’s, too. Whoever did this knows you pretty well.” You found yourself agreeing with her, thinking about the effort put into the box. “I guess so…”

Karina placed the snack back into the box, pinching your cheek lightly. “Well, good luck figuring out your secret admirer. I’ve got to head to class now.”

“Thanks,” you said, waving her off as she left the office. “See you later.”

As she walked out, you couldn’t help but feel a little more curious about who could have gone through so much trouble to put this together—and who else other than Yeosang could have known you well enough to pick just the right snacks to put inside the box.

On the other side of the building sat Wooyoung and San in their respective seats at sociology class—but today, there was something unusual, and that would be nothing other than Wooyoung seeming to be more smiley and eager to learn than usual. Even their professor, who is used to Wooyoung’s occasional inattentiveness, couldn’t help but notice the change in his demeanor, though he silently hopes it will last.

San, sitting beside Wooyoung, nudged him, whispering, “What’s with you today? You seem more cheerful than usual.” Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, brushing him off. “Can’t a guy have a good day without it being a big deal?” San smirked, “Woah, chill out. Well, whatever you say.”

San was about to leave him alone, but Wooyoung's anxious voice caught his attention. “San… What if she didn’t like the surprise?” Wooyoung whispered, his usual confidence momentarily replaced by genuine worry. “What if the only thing that made her smile was that lame dad joke I wrote on the cat-shaped sticky note?” San huffed, shaking his head. “Oh, and here I thought you weren’t whipped for her.”

“I’m not!” Wooyoung insisted, his eyes wide. “I’m just worried she wouldn’t like it.”

“So... whipped?”

“No!”

Their professor shushed them from the front of the class, giving them a stern look. They both fell silent for a moment, but San leaned in again, this time with a reassuring tone. “Look, you saw her smile, right? That’s a big deal. Trust me, she liked it. You put a lot of thought into it.”

Wooyoung fidgeted with his pen with an ink halfway drained, still uncertain. “But how do you know?”

San rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Because, my guy, no one smiles at a lame dad joke if they’re not already in a good mood. Plus, you bought all her favorite snacks. She probably loved it. Stop worrying so much.” Wooyoung sighed and leaned back on his seat, nodding slightly. “Alright, alright, yeah, that makes sense. I just hope you’re right.”

San patted him on the back. “I always am. Now pay attention to the board before the professor kicks you out.” Wooyoung laughed softly, feeling a bit more at ease. The class went by smoothly, yet his worries about what you thought of his present kept lingering in his thoughts. He could only hope San was right.

Time seems to be passing by quicker than usual this week, as you didn’t even notice it was already lunch break—at least until you were the very last person inside your classroom. You headed towards the cafeteria, but as you reached its entrance all by yourself. you were quick to feel out of place in the room. The noise and chatter around you amplify your sense of isolation, only further highlighting Yeosang’s absence. Seeking a quieter atmosphere, you headed to the field, bringing along some snacks from the mysterious box you found in your locker earlier. You still don’t know who the box is from, but the treats inside are a comfort, nevertheless.

The field is expansive and mostly empty, the grass a vibrant green under the midday sun. It’s a stark contrast to the crowded cafeteria, offering a sense of peace. You spot Wooyoung all by himself, kicking a football around with casual ease. It’s been a while since you last came here, given how busy you’ve been with the festival preparations, leaving little room for free time.

Wooyoung immediately notices your presence, his eyes darting to the strawberry Pocky and can of soda you’re holding—his personal favorites that he added to the box of snacks for you. The sight of you holding them makes him blush slightly, realizing it’s what you chose to bring with you. You wave slightly at Wooyoung, who enthusiastically waves back with both hands before sprinting over to you by the bleachers. His usual playful grin is in place, and his energy is infectious. “Hey, stranger. Long time no see at the field,” he greets enthusiastically.

“Hi,” you respond calmly. “Yeah, it has been a while. Sorry, I’ve been really busy these days.”

Wooyoung brushes off your apology with a smile, shaking his head. “What? No, you don’t need to apologize for that. You’ve got a lot on your plate. Have you been getting any rest?” You shake your head, a bit sheepishly. “Well… not really. But I did find a mysterious box filled with snacks in my locker earlier.”

“Oh?” Wooyoung feigns surprise, eyebrows raised. “What was in it?” You describe the decorations on the box in detail—the vibrant colors, the playful stickers, and the cat-shaped sticky note with a joke written on it. “It said, ‘What did the ocean say to the beach? Nothing, they just waved.’”

Wooyoung pretends to scoff, crossing his arms in mock indignation. “Dad jokes? Really? Who even makes those these days?” You chuckle softly. “I thought it was lame at first, too. But somehow, it was so unfunny it became funny. It cheered me up.”

“Well, at least it lifted your spirit. That’s all that matters,” Wooyoung says, smiling. “You deserve something like that.”

“You think so?” you ask, tilting your head, your curiosity piqued by his sincerity.

“I know so.”

You look at him, a bit curious. “What about you?” Wooyoung tilts his head, confused for a moment, pushing you to elaborate. “Um, you know, championships. Have you been getting any rest lately?”

“Oh, right. Not really. That’s actually why I’m here playing around in the field to unwind a bit. Gotta have some fun before diving back into practice, you know,” he shrugged. “That’s good,” you nod approvingly. “But don’t overwork yourself. Overexertion can lead to muscle fatigue, reduced immune function, and overall physical burnout.”

Wooyoung laughs, a carefree sound that contrasts with your concern. “I have no idea what you just said, so I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing.” You shake your head in amusement. “I really mean it. You deserve some time to yourself. Speaking of, are you and the team planning to attend the festival?”

“Of course!” he exclaims, his eyes lighting up. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“That’s great,” you say. “You should use it as a way to unwind and take a break.” Wooyoung pauses, then asks, “Are you planning to spend the festival with someone?”

You take a moment to reflect on the question. You mull over who you could spend it with, immediately thinking of Yeosang. However, a feeling tugs at you that maybe he should spend the festival doing something he enjoys independently, not always sticking by your side. He needs to “go out there,” too. But then, who else would you spend the festival with? The thought leaves you feeling a bit uncertain.

“I was thinking of spending it with Yeosang,” you finally say. “It’s kind of our default. But I also want him to go out on his own this time. I haven’t really given it much thought.”

Wooyoung’s heart races, a mix of emotions swirling inside him. He doesn’t know why his immediate thought was to invite you to spend the festival with him, but the words slip out before he can stop them. “You could spend the festival with me and the football team.” You turn your head towards him, confused, not quite catching his words. “What?”

Clearing his throat and trying to seem more relaxed, Wooyoung repeats himself, “I mean, you could spend it with us. You know, the football team.”

You hesitate, your brow furrowing slightly. “Oh, but wouldn’t they mind?” Wooyoung shakes his head, smiling reassuringly. “They don’t have the right to complain. But seriously, they wouldn’t mind at all. I’m sure they’ll like you.”

“You think so?” you ask, still a bit unsure.

“I know so,” Wooyoung says, then elaborates. “You’ve got this calm and quiet vibe, but at the same time, you’re also really cool. I think it would be good to have someone like you around. They’ll appreciate your presence—even if we tend to be rowdy at times. Plus, you’ve got this way of making people feel at ease. I’ve seen it.” You tilt your head, still a bit unsure. “You think they’ll really like me?”

“I know they will,” he says, his tone firm. “And besides, I’ll be there with and for you.” You blink, slightly taken aback. “What?”

He clears his throat again, trying to play it off casually. “I mean, I can serve as the mutual bridge between you and the team, something like that.” You nod, feeling a bit more at ease. “Alright. I’ll think about it.”

As you both sit on the bleachers, sharing the snacks, the atmosphere feels comfortable. The strawberry Pocky you munch on is sweet, and the soda fizzes pleasantly on your tongue. Wooyoung's presence is warm and easy, making you feel more relaxed than you have in days. It’s a simple moment, but it’s filled with comfort, nevertheless. It’s always the case whenever he’s around, anyway.

—

It’s now the day before the festival, and the campus is buzzing with activity. Members of the journalism club and student council are busier than usual, working tirelessly to ensure everything is perfect for tomorrow. The festival is on Sunday, so the first day of the weekend is dedicated to decorating the entire campus, setting up props, booths, the stage, and various other attractions. Everyone has been here since early morning, and the atmosphere is charged with a mix of both excitement for the day to come and exhaustion due to the amount of workload.

By afternoon, the sun is high in the sky, heating up the world like a large candle lit aflame. While Yeosang is busy hanging decorations inside the building, you are assigned to work on the decorations at the campus grounds, so you were both separated for the day. The heat is intense, and you can feel dehydration setting in as you continue working under the blazing sun.

Today, Minjae is also assigned to the campus grounds decorations. As he sees you struggling in the heat, he hesitantly approaches with a cold water bottle in hand. “Um, hey,” he says, extending the water bottle toward you. His demeanor is a mix of guilt and awkwardness, and you could tell from the way he couldn’t even look you straight in the eye.

You’re a little caught off guard at first—after all, you’re still not quite used to the change that occurred within him despite being grateful for it, but then accept the water, offering him your gratitude. “Thanks, Minjae.” He brushes you off, looking slightly uncomfortable. “It’s the least I can do.”

You can tell he still feels bad about his past words and for slacking off in his duties. Seeing his discomfort, you decide to address it directly. “You know, I can tell you still feel guilty about what happened back in the office.”

He looks down, shuffling his feet on the ground as the friction between the soles of his shoes and the grass create a crispy sound. “Yeah, I... I’m still really sorry about that. I was out of line. And I know it’s pathetic how I’m the one who did you wrong yet I can’t even be around you without acting awkward. I’m doing my best not to, but I just—”

You cut him off, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Minjae, there’s no point in mulling over something that already happened. I’ve moved on from what you said, and so should you. I’ve seen you working hard lately, and that’s what matters now. Rather than focusing on your past mistakes, focus on continuing your growth. There’s no need to act awkward around me, alright? I’ve already forgiven you and I only wish you the best, and I have enough faith in you to trust you won’t do such a thing again.”

Minjae’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and you can see he’s genuinely touched by your words. Wanting to lighten the mood, you pull out the voodoo doll keychain Yeosang gave you that you still haven’t returned. “Here,” you say, handing it to Minjae. He looks at the doll, confused and mildly horrified by its weird-looking face. “Uh… what’s this?”

You chuckle softly. “Yeosang gave it to me that day in the office after you said those things, so that I wouldn’t feel alone. It’s kind of like a good luck charm. It only makes sense to pass it on to you now.” Minjae still looks a bit horrified, but the oddity of the doll distracts him from his tears. “Thanks... I think?”

You ruffle his hair gently. “Don’t stress it out, okay? Go back to work. We’ve got a festival to prepare for.” He nods, a small smile forming on his lips as he pockets the doll and heads back to his tasks. You watch him for a moment, feeling a sense of satisfaction. It’s a small gesture, but you hope it helps him move forward.

The rest of the day progresses smoothly, with everyone enjoying the festive atmosphere of decorating despite their growing fatigue. The sun finally sets, casting a warm glow over the campus, now transformed with vibrant decorations and beautiful setups. Members of the student council and the journalism club gather to admire their collective effort. High-fives are exchanged, and congratulations abound. Karina steps forward, her eyes brimming with gratitude. “Before we all head home, I just want to thank everyone for all their hard work—especially the journalism club for lending us a hand. None of this would have been possible without you guys.”

A chorus of agreements and mutual thanks echoes through the group. They all wish each other well, hoping tomorrow’s festival will be a resounding success, before heading home for a well-deserved rest.

As you and Yeosang walk home together after bidding Karina farewell, the streets quiet under the evening sky, Yeosang turns to you. “So, what are our plans for this year’s festival?” You smile slightly and correct him, “My and your plans.” He stops in his tracks, confused. “Wait, what? Why?”

“You can’t possibly spend every festival with me when there are so many people wanting to hang out with you,” you explain. "I mean, come on, you're Yeosang."

He frowns, shaking his head. “But you’re more fun to hang out with.” You shoot him a playful, confused look. “Me? More fun? I’m widely known to be calm and composed—the top traits of a plain person, mind you. How is that fun?”

“You’re nowhere near plain. Plus, I just prefer your company,” he says simply.

You nod, understanding his sentiment. “I feel the same way, Yeosang, but you need to go out there, you know? Spend time with other people, meet new people.” Yeosang hesitates, his concern for you evident. “But what about you?"

“I’ll be fine,” you assure him. “You don’t need to worry about me all the time.” Reluctantly, he agrees. “Okay, but who are you planning to spend the festival with?”

“Well, Wooyoung invited me a few days ago,” You say, almost offhandedly. Yeosang isn’t surprised, and is just simply amused. “You’ve been bringing Wooyoung up a lot these days.”

You brush him off. “It’s not like that.”

“I thought you said you weren’t friends, though?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You hesitate, searching for the right words. You’re not sure what kind of connection you and Wooyoung have. The dynamic is confusing, but one thing is clear—you enjoy his company. “You know, you’ve been smiling a little more lately,” Yeosang speaks up, breaking the short-lived silence.

You furrow your brow, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

He elaborates, “I mean, it’s not like you’re suddenly grinning from ear to ear, but there’s this lightness about you. Your eyes crinkle just a bit more when you’re talking. You seem less... guarded. Like the walls you put up are starting to come down, slowly but surely.” You feel a slight flush creep up your cheeks as Yeosang continues. “I think Wooyoung has something to do with it. Ever since you two started getting along, you’ve seemed happier.”

“That's ridiculous,” you respond, shaking your head dismissively. Even after saying that, as you continue walking, you find yourself mulling over Yeosang’s words. Were you really smiling more often now? How come you yourself haven’t noticed? And if it’s true, is Wooyoung really the reason? Why so?

—

It's now Sunday morning, and the alarm clock blares at an unusually early hour—8 AM. Despite the grogginess, you quickly remind yourself of today’s importance. The festival may not start until the afternoon, but the journalism club and the student council are expected to be on campus earlier than everyone else to ensure everything is perfectly set up.

Last night, Karina had insisted that you treat today as a special occasion. She urged you to take your time getting ready, to pamper yourself and dress up a bit. Initially, the idea had made you blush, but Karina had promised she’d be dressing up too so that you wouldn’t feel out of place. Determined to follow her advice, you dive into your closet, fingers sifting through hangers of clothes. After a good amount of deliberation, you finally settle on a cute, yet comfortable outfit—a floral sundress paired with a light cardigan and your favorite sandals. You snap a quick picture and send it to Karina. Her response is immediate and enthusiastic: “You’d look drop-dead gorgeous in that! 😍” She follows your message with a picture of her own outfit, equally stylish and encouraging.

Feeling a bit more confident, you head to the bathroom for a shower. As the hot water washes over you, your mind starts to wander. The realization that you won’t be spending the festival with Yeosang this year, but with Wooyoung and the football team instead, makes your stomach churn with nerves. What if they don’t like you? What if you come off as too quiet or awkward? The thoughts swirl, creating a knot of anxiety in your chest. But then, you remember Wooyoung’s reassuring words. His voice echoes in your mind, calming your fears. You take a deep breath and slowly exhale, allowing the tension to melt away. You wonder if Wooyoung is already up, preparing for the day with the same mix of excitement and nervousness that you feel.

After drying off, you sit in your vanity to fix your hair and apply a bit of makeup. You go for a natural look, just enough to enhance your features without feeling overdone. As you carefully apply your products on, you think about how different today will be. Once you’re satisfied with your appearance, you check your outfit in the mirror one last time, ensuring everything is in place.

Grabbing your phone, you shoot a quick text to Yeosang: “Hey, I’ll meet you at the corner near my apartment in 15 minutes. Does that sound good?”

Even though you won’t be spending the festival together, you’ll be heading to campus together since both of you are part of the early setup crew. Yeosang replies almost immediately, confirming he’ll be there. You gather your bag to double-check if you have everything you need for the day, and head out the door. The morning air is cool, a slight breeze rustling the leaves. Reaching the corner, you see Yeosang waiting for you, a relaxed smile on his face. “Ready for the big day?” he asks. You shrug, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervous excitement. “I hope.”

When you and Yeosang arrive on campus, the air is filled with liveliness and the promise of a worthwhile day ahead. The two of you head straight to the student council office where everyone has already gathered, the room filled with chatter and last-minute preparations. Karina, as always, is at the center of the activity, efficiently coordinating the final details.

She calls everyone to order, and the room falls silent. A quick run-through of the day’s schedule ensues, with each member confirming their responsibilities and ensuring everything is ready. Once satisfied that everything is in place, the group disperses to make final checks on the decorations scattered around the campus. As everyone moves out, Karina immediately makes a beeline for you, her eyes lighting up when she sees your outfit. “Look at you, Miss Universe!” she exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. “You look breathtaking.”

You blush, feeling slightly self-conscious. “Thanks. It feels a bit awkward to dress up for a school event, though,” you admit, glancing down at your dress. "But you look gorgeous, too,” you said, admiring her appearance. Karina waves off your compliment with a playful smile. “Oh, stop it. But seriously, you’re stunning. I swear, you’re going to be the star of today. By the end of the festival, you’ll have a line of admirers at your feet.”

Her mention of admirers makes you think of the mysterious box from your locker, and Karina seems to read your thoughts. “Speaking of admirers, have you figured out who left you that box yet?”

You shake your head. “No, I still don’t have a single clue.” Karina gives you a knowing look. “Well, they better show themselves today—you can never go wrong with revealing your identity to your crush during a festival.”

You rub the back of your neck, brushing off her teasing. “We’ll see about that.” Karina laughs, giving you a light shove. “Oh, come on! It's bound to happen. Anyway, let’s check on the decorations outside before things get too hectic.”

You nod, grateful for her company and support. Together, you walk through the campus, making sure the decorations are still in place. The morning sun is already climbing higher, promising a warm day ahead. The banners, streamers, and various booths look vibrant and inviting, a testament to all the hard work everyone put in. As you move from one area to another, Karina continues to chat animatedly, her excitement infectious. She points out little details, praises everyone’s efforts, and occasionally teases you about your mystery admirer. Despite your initial nerves, you start to feel more at ease, caught up in the anticipation of the festival and the presence of your friends.

“Look at how well the streamers turned out!” Karina exclaims, pointing to the colorful decorations swaying gently in the breeze. “Everyone did such an amazing job.” You nod, admiring the handiwork. “Yeah, it looks really good. The campus feels so vibrant.”

Karina grins and nudges you playfully. “And speaking of vibrant, you’re positively glowing today. I think your admirer might just faint when they see you.” You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope, absolutely not,” she laughs. “I’m fully invested in this mystery now. I mean, who wouldn’t want to know who has a crush on our gorgeous star reporter?” You shake your head, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “You’re impossible.”

Karina points to a nearby booth, changing the subject slightly. “Oh, look at the detail on that sign. It’s perfect. And the balloons—they add such a fun touch.” You follow her gaze, appreciating the effort everyone has put into the preparations. “Yeah, it all came together really well. I’m excited to see how it looks when the festival starts.”

The two of you continue to check on the decorations, and as you move through the campus, you start to feel a sense of pride and accomplishment, knowing that you’ve played a part in creating this beautiful, festive atmosphere. The exhaustion has definitely proved itself to be worth it.

The afternoon arrives, and the campus begins to buzz with life. Students, faculty, and even alumni trickle in, filling the grounds with a lively atmosphere. By the gates, Yeosang and a student council member greet everyone warmly, their cheerful voices carrying over the excited chatter of the crowd. From afar, you stand amidst the school grounds, your eyes scanning the growing throng for any sign of Wooyoung and his team. Nervous energy builds in your chest, a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Your phone buzzes with a notification, pulling you from your thoughts. It's a message from Hongjoong. As you read it, you can’t help but raise an eyebrow in amusement: “We’ll be a little late because Mingi overslept and is only halfway done with preparing now. Sorry to keep you waiting. - Wooyoung 😺” The cat emoji at the end of the message brings a soft smile to your face.

A few minutes later, another message arrives, again from Hongjoong’s phone, saying they’re on their way. The nervousness in your stomach intensifies, and you decide to make a run to the bathroom to check your appearance. Socializing with big groups isn't your strong suit, and the thought of spending the day with Wooyoung and his team has you on edge.

In the bathroom, you adjust your hair, making sure every strand is in place. You touch up your makeup, ensuring everything looks perfect. As you scrutinize your reflection, your phone dings again. Another text from Hongjoong’s number: “We’re at the gates.” You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. With one last glance in the mirror, you exhale, trying to muster confidence and calm your nerves at the same time. As you step out of the bathroom and make your way toward the gates, your heart pounds in your chest.

As Wooyoung and his team make their way through the crowd, Jongho glances at Wooyoung and smirks. “This is the first time I’ve seen you put so much effort into your appearance for the festival,” he says loudly, drawing everyone's attention. “Yeah, what's the deal, Woo?” San joins in, a playful grin spreading across his face. “Trying to impress a certain someone?”

"Ridiculous," Wooyoung rolls his eyes, trying to mask his embarrassment with annoyance. “I just felt like looking good today, okay?"

“Alright, you all better at least try to act like decent human beings for once—and that means zero teasing for today. We don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable,” Hongjoong says, immediately shutting San up. Wooyoung nods, grateful for Hongjoong’s intervention. “Especially you guys,” he says, pointing at Mingi and San, who both look at him with an offended expression. Jongho looks around, trying to spot you. “Where is she, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” Wooyoung replies. “But I’m pretty sure she read the message I sent through Hongjoong’s phone already, so she’s probably on her way.” Seonghwa suddenly perks up, pointing towards a figure in the distance. “Hey, isn’t that her?”

Wooyoung follows Seonghwa's gaze, and the moment he sees you, it feels as if time stops. He’s in a trance, completely unaware of everything else happening. The world fades, and all he can see is you, even amidst the crowd you’re surrounded with. San, noticing Wooyoung’s reaction, nudges him. “Snap out of it, lover boy,” he teases. Wooyoung shakes his head, trying to regain his composure. He calls out your name, his loud voice easily spreading across the noise of the festival. “Over here!”

You hear him and wave, making your way over to the group. As you walk up to Wooyoung and his friends, you shyly greet them, and their energetic response feels like a stark contrast to your quieter demeanor. Somehow, Wooyoung is the only one who awkwardly says hi back. “The decorations look so cool,” Yunho compliments, his eyes wide with appreciation. “You and the others did a great job.”

“Oh, thank you,” you reply, feeling a little flustered. I agree. It was definitely worth all the restless days we went through.”

Yunho continues, “So, what do you guys have in store for today?”

“Well, you’ll find out later,” you respond vaguely. “But for now, you’re free to enjoy the various booths and attractions all around.” As you start walking around, you find yourself in front with Wooyoung, while the rest of the group trails behind on purpose. “Your friends have talked more than you so far,” you mention, glancing at Wooyoung. He awkwardly chuckles, clearing his throat. “Uh, yeah.”

“Do you want to say something?” you ask, sensing that he might. Wooyoung hesitates for a moment before shyly whispering, “You look beautiful.”

“What?” you ask, not quite catching his words. A little flustered, Wooyoung blurts out, “You look beautiful.” The guys hear this but resist the urge to tease or react. You blush in return, “Thank you. You look good too, Wooyoung.”

As you pass by a large backdrop designed for festival photos, you look back at the group. “Do you guys want me to take a picture of you here?” you offer, holding up your DSLR camera, the strap slung around your neck.

“Yeah, sure!” Seonghwa says enthusiastically.

You take pictures as they strike silly poses, making you smile—a sight that doesn’t escape Wooyoung’s notice. After showing them the photos on the DSLR’s screen, Hongjoong suggests, “How about we get a picture of you and Wooyoung too?” Both you and Wooyoung are caught off guard, but everyone else agrees eagerly. Eventually giving in, you hand the camera to Hongjoong, you and Wooyoung walk to the backdrop, unsure of how to pose. “Make a heart,” San suggests, grinning mischievously.

“Heart...?” you ask, flustered.

Yunho and Mingi demonstrate, forming a heart shape with their arms. You look at Wooyoung, who is already looking at you. Both of you look away quickly, then awkwardly position yourselves to form a heart shape together. The rest of the group then resists the urge to scream and holler like teenage girls, save for Mingi who starts hitting Yunho’s shoulder continuously. “Smile!” Hongjoong calls out, but you struggle to smile on command. Noticing your discomfort, Wooyoung leans in and whispers a lame joke in your ear. The unexpected humor makes you let out a short, breathy laugh, and Hongjoong times the shutter of the camera perfectly, capturing the moment. Hongjoong shows you and Wooyoung the photo. When he sees the genuine smile on your face—for the very first time—Wooyoung can't help but smile as well.

The day passes by in a blur of laughter and activities. You visit different booths, play games, and try various foods. Despite the occasional teasing from the group that you don’t quite understand, the atmosphere is light and fun nevertheless. Mingi wins a giant stuffed animal at one booth and insists on carrying it around, much to everyone’s amusement. At another booth, San tries his hand at a strength tester and dramatically fails, causing a chorus of laughter. Every now and then, Wooyoung and you found yourselves in oddly heartwarming moments. Once, you both reached for the same snack at the food stall, your hands brushing against each other. Wooyoung quickly pulled back, a shy smile on his face, “Uh, you go first.”

As the sun sets and the sky turns a deep shade of blue, Hongjoong suggests, “Hey, how about we take another picture of you two?” You agree, and Hongjoong takes the DSLR from you. You and Wooyoung pose again, this time feeling more relaxed. After the photo, you forget to take the camera back from Hongjoong, who happily holds onto it.

Night falls, and the festival takes on a magical glow with lights and lanterns everywhere. You realize it’s now time for the surprise event. With excitement bubbling inside you, you turn to Wooyoung and the rest, “Follow me! I have something to show you.” In your enthusiasm, you grab Wooyoung's hand without realizing it and lead the group through the crowd. San, being the first to notice it, ushers Hongjoong to sneakily take a picture of you holding hands.

You lead them to an open area where lanterns are set up, ready to be released into the sky. “Everyone gets to write their wishes on the lanterns before letting them fly up,” you explain, beaming. Everyone else eagerly rushed to get their lanterns, leaving you and Wooyoung standing together. It’s only when you reach for a lantern that you realize you’re still holding his hand. You both awkwardly let go, a blush creeping up your cheeks.

Wooyoung grabs a marker and starts writing on his lantern. Curious, you peek over and read his wish, and beside your name, he wrote: “I wish for her happiness.” You chuckle, “You’re supposed to make a wish for yourself.” Wooyoung shrugs, a sincere look in his eyes. “My point still stands.”

Touched, you immediately write on your lantern as well: “I wish Wooyoung luck for the championships.”

“Thought we were supposed to make wishes for ourselves?” Wooyoung echoed your words from earlier, playfully raising an eyebrow—just so you wouldn’t notice the light red hue on his cheeks. Together, you and Wooyoung release your lanterns into the air. As they float upwards, you both look at each other and share a smile. Nearby, Hongjoong captures the moment with a photo.

As you watch your lanterns drift higher, you come to a sudden realization: Wooyoung’s handwriting matches the one on the sticky note from the box. You choose not to bring it up, letting the moment linger. When the night deepens, the festival then starts to reach its crescendo with a fireworks display. The air is filled with anticipation as everyone gathers in the open fields, eyes glued to the dark sky above. Wooyoung nudges you gently, “Come on, I know a spot where we can watch the fireworks without the crowd.”

You follow him, weaving through the throngs of students and faculty. He leads you to a secluded area on the edge of the campus, where the noise of the crowd fades, and the view of the sky is unobstructed. The space feels intimate, almost like it was made for just the two of you. As you both settle in, the first firework bursts into the sky, painting it with vibrant colors. You watch in awe, the sight pulling you into a reflective state. You sigh softly, feeling a mix of contentment and nostalgia. “You know, today has been amazing. It’s been so long since I felt like... like I’m actually someone outside of my responsibilities. Today, I felt free.”

Wooyoung listens intently, his gaze never leaving your face. His heartwarming smile is constant, encouraging you to continue.

“I’ve been so caught up with the journalism club and everything else that I forgot what it feels like to just have fun. To be part of something without the pressure of expectations. And today... you made me feel that again.” A particularly loud and colorful firework explodes overhead, but neither of you look away from each other.

Wooyoung’s smile grows softer, more affectionate. “I”m glad you had fun. You deserve to feel this way more often.” You nod, feeling a lump in your throat. “Thank you, Wooyoung. For everything. For inviting me, for making me feel welcome. For... just being you.” He reaches out and gently squeezes your hand. “Anytime. Really.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence, watching the fireworks light up the night sky. Each burst of color seems to reflect the emotions swelling in your heart—joy, relief, and something new, something deeper that you can’t quite name. As the grand finale of the fireworks display starts, you find yourself leaning a little closer to Wooyoung. He doesn’t move away, instead, his thumb softly strokes the back of your hand. In that moment, surrounded by the dazzling lights and the warmth of his presence, you feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude and hope for what the future might hold. When the last firework fades and the sky returns to its star-studded calm, you turn to Wooyoung one last time. “Today was unforgettable.”

He looks at you, eyes full of sincerity. “It really was.”

—

The following morning, you woke up with the sun, the events of the festival still fresh in your mind. The day had been magical, filled with laughter and moments that made you feel alive. It wasn't until you started getting ready for school that the realization hit you—you had completely forgotten to cover the event.

Panic set in as you frantically checked your camera. The memory card was filled with photos of you, Wooyoung, the football team, and various candid shots likely taken by Hongjoong. There were no pictures of the important moments, the highlights that were meant for the article. Guilt gnawed at you as you hurried to school, the weight of your mistake heavy on your shoulders. Entering Mr. Kim’s office, he looked up from his desk as you walked in. “Morning,” he greeted curtly. “Let’s see what you got from the festival.” Swallowing hard, you approached his desk. “I… I’m really sorry, Mr. Kim,” you began, your voice trembling. “I didn’t manage to cover the event properly.”

Mr. Kim’s face darkened immediately. “What do you mean you didn’t cover it?” he asked sharply. You took a deep breath, preparing to explain yourself. “I got distracted. I... I didn’t take the necessary photos for the article.”

“Distracted?” he repeated, his voice rising. "Do you have any idea how important this was? This was your responsibility! This was your chance to prove yourself, and you blew it!”

“I’m really sorry,” you said again, fear evident in your voice. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Sorry isn’t good enough!” he snapped, his face flushed with anger. “Do you realize the consequences of your negligence? We have deadlines! We have standards! And you... you chose to shirk your duties for what? A bit of fun?” Tears welled up in your eyes, and you stared at the ground, unable to meet his gaze. “I… yes. I messed up. I’m really sorry.”

“You’ve let everyone down,” he continued ruthlessly. “You’ve let me down. You’ve let the whole publication down. We trusted you with this responsibility, and you proved that you can’t handle it. You’re a disappointment.” Each word was like a blow, and you felt yourself shrinking under his tirade. “I’m sorry,” you whispered again, feeling utterly defeated. Mr. Kim’s voice was cold and sharp. “Sorry doesn’t cut it. You’re out of the publication. Pack your things and get out of here.”

Numbly, you gathered your belongings, shoving them into the box that had once held the snacks from Wooyoung. You kept your head down, avoiding Mr. Kim’s gaze as you left the office, your chest tight with shame and regret. You quickly placed the box in your locker, then spent the rest of the day avoiding everyone. You couldn’t face Yeosang, Karina, and especially Wooyoung. Not now. When you finally got home, the tears you had been holding back all day spilled over. You collapsed onto your bed, clutching the camera that held the memories of the festival. As you scrolled through the pictures, your sobs grew louder. The happiness you had felt seemed like a distant dream now, replaced by a crushing sense of guilt and failure. Unable to bear the loneliness, you called Yeosang. He arrived quickly, his face etched with worry as he took in your tear-streaked face. “What happened?” he asked, his voice gentle yet filled with concern all the same.

Between sobs, you explained everything. “I forgot to take the pictures... Mr. Kim kicked me out... I messed up, Yeosang. I should’ve known better.” Yeosang’s expression hardened, but his touch was soft as he hugged you. “Hey, don’t say that. None of this is your fault,” he said firmly. “Mr. Kim is an idiot for not seeing how hard you work.”

You shook your head, unable to accept his words. “It is my fault. let myself be happy for once, and this is what happens. I should’ve known better.” Yeosang held you tighter, his own heart breaking at your pain. “You deserve to be happy. It’s not wrong to enjoy yourself.”

“But I neglected my duties,” you argued, pulling away slightly to look at him. “I failed, Yeo. I failed everyone. I let myself down.”

"No, you didn’t,” he insisted. “You work harder than anyone else. You put everything into this job, and you deserve a break. You deserve to be happy. Mr. Kim is wrong. He’s wrong to treat you like this.” You shook your head again, the tears flowing freely. “I can’t believe that. I can’t.”

“Please,” Yeosang pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. “Please believe me. You are not a failure. You are not a disappointment. You are amazing, and you deserve so much more than this.”

But you couldn't hear him. The words of Mr. Kim echoed in your mind, drowning out Yeosang's reassurances. You buried your face in his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. He held you close as he whispered soothing words, trying to comfort you even though you refused to accept his validation.

The next day at school, Minjae noticed your absence from the office. Confused, he approached Yeosang, who was sitting alone at one of the desks, still fuming from what happened yesterday.

“Hey, where is she?” Minjae asked, frowning. Yeosang sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Mr. Kim kicked her out. She... she forgot to cover the event, and he went off on her. It was brutal, Minjae. He said things—awful things. Called her a disappointment, said she didn’t deserve to be here.”

Minjae’s eyes widened in shock and then eventually narrowed in fury. “He said that? Are you serious?” Yeosang nodded. “Every word. It was like he didn’t care at all about how much she’s done for him and us as well.”

Minjae’s jaw tightened. “This is bullshit. She’s the reason this publication runs smoothly! She does more for this place than he ever has.” Without another word, Minjae stormed off to Mr. Kim’s office. Yeosang didn’t even try to stop him, knowing whatever Minjae was about to do to Mr. Kim, it would be well-deserved.

Minjae stormed into Mr. Kim’s office, his fury palpable. The door slammed against the wall, causing Mr. Kim to look up in shock. The typically composed Minjae was anything but calm, his eyes lit with anger.

“How could you do this to her?” Minjae yelled, slamming his hands on the desk. “How could you treat her like this after everything she’s done for this publication?” Mr. Kim looked up, startled by the sudden intrusion. “Excuse me?” he said, his voice cold.

“You heard me, you old hag,” Minjae said, rolling his eyes. “She’s the reason this publication is what it is. She’s been overworked and underappreciated, and the one time she takes a break, you punish her? How dare you!”

Mr. Kim’s jaw tightens in annoyance. “This is not your concern, Minjae.”

“Not my concern?” Minjae echoed, his voice rising. “You’ve got some nerve. Kicking her out is the worst decision you could make. She acts more like an advisor than you ever have. Without her, this publication will fall apart.” Mr. Kim stood up, trying to assert his authority to get the upper hand. “That’s enough. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Minjae shot back. “Without her, you wouldn’t have a clean image. People wouldn’t praise you and your publication. You don’t deserve any of the credit she’s brought to this place.”

“You’re out of line,” Mr. Kim said coldly, brows nearly touching one another. “And you’re out of your mind if you think this place will survive without her,” Minjae retorted. “She’s been carrying this publication on her back, and you have the audacity to call her a disappointment? She’s worth more than you ever will be.” Mr. Kim’s expression faltered slightly, but he tried to regain control. “This is not up for discussion.”

“It better be,” Minjae said, his voice deadly calm. “Because if you don't take her back, I’ll make sure everyone knows what kind of person you really are. I’ll expose every filthy secret you’re hiding. Do you understand me?” Mr. Kim’s face turned pale, struggling to find the right words to shoot back for a fleeting second—he wouldn’t dare. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” Minjae said. “You think you’re untouchable because you’ve managed to hide your true nature behind a facade of competence and authority? Well, I’ve had enough. We’ve all had enough. You have no idea how much we know about you. All those late submissions you blamed on us? We know they were because you were out of the office, drinking away your evenings instead of doing your job. Those articles you claimed credit for? Everyone knows it was her who wrote them, who polished them until they shined. Without her, you’re nothing but a fraud.”

Mr. Kim tried to interject, but Minjae was on a roll, his voice growing louder with each word. “Do you remember the budget issues last year? The ones you blamed on a miscalculation? We all know you skimmed off the top for your little ‘business trips.’ You’ve been siphoning funds meant for student activities for your own use. How long do you think it will take before the administration finds out? Before the parents find out?”

“You have no proof,” Mr. Kim said, but his voice trembled slightly. He was losing, and Minjae loved seeing him crumble down.

Minjae leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “Proof? I don’t need proof to start talking. Once people start asking questions, it’s only a matter of time before everything unravels. Take her back, or I’ll make sure you never work in education again. I’ll drag your name through the mud until there’s nothing left of your precious reputation.” Mr. Kim stared at Minjae, realizing the seriousness of his threat. He knew Minjae wasn’t bluffing. “Fine,” he said finally, his voice low. “I’ll consider it.”

“Consider it?” Minjae echoed, incredulous. “You better do more than that. You better make it happen, or I swear, I’ll make your life a living hell. She deserves better than this, and if you can’t see that, you don't deserve to be in this position.”

—

You’ve been absent for days now. The weight of your mistake at the festival sits heavily on your shoulders, and you can’t bring yourself to show up at school. The festival was one of the most important events of the year, and you let yourself be selfish enough to prioritize your happiness instead of doing your job. The guilt gnaws at you, making you feel like a disappointment. You can’t face anyone—especially Minjae. After reconciling with him, you’ve heard from others that he always talks about you being his role model and how you played a huge part in his development. The thought of showing your face to the junior who looks up to you after making such a big, disappointing mistake feels pathetic.

Karina has also noticed your absence and questioned Yeosang about it when she crossed paths with him in the halls. Yeosang, respecting your trust, explained the situation but asked Karina to keep it confidential. The way Karina sees Mr. Kim has drastically changed, but as much as she wants to take action against him, she respects your request to stay silent. Instead, she checks up on you, trying to provide the support you need.

One day in the middle of the week, you and Yeosang are hanging out together in your apartment. You find yourself checking the photos on your DSLR again, and your chest tightens after coming across the candid photo of you and Wooyoung releasing your lanterns up in the night sky. You didn’t know genuine happiness would come at such a huge cost. Yeosang notices your distress and asks, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh, struggling to hold back tears. “If Wooyoung asks you about my absences, please don’t tell him anything.” Yeosang looks confused. “What? Why?”

“I can’t afford to mess up again,” you say, your voice void of emotion. “I can’t afford distractions. I need to cut the string connecting me to Wooyoung.” Yeosang hesitates, trying to find another solution. “Are you sure? Maybe there’s another way…”

You shake your head, tears streaming down your face. “I don’t want to do it, but it’s what has to be done. If I keep Wooyoung around, who knows what else I’ll mess up? I don’t want him involved in my troubles.”

“But wouldn’t that hurt you?” Yeosang asks softly. “It already is hurting me,” you whisper. “But I have no choice.”

A week has passed since then, and it was now the last week before the championships. The day after the festival, Wooyoung noticed your absence but thought nothing of it at first, assuming you were busy. But as your absences spanned an entire week, he couldn’t help but worry. On Friday last week, he finally asked Yeosang about it.

“Please be patient with her,” Yeosang had said, offering no further explanation. This left Wooyoung confused and anxious. He wasn’t used to the absence of your presence and was increasingly worried about your wellbeing

This week, you finally muster the courage to return to school, but you avoid Wooyoung at all costs. You look sad, as if you’ve gone back to being the girl you once were before he got to know you. Wooyoung keeps trying to approach you, crossing paths with you on purpose and calling you, but you avoid him, even though it hurts you deeply.

Wooyoung has been constantly distracted and unfocused lately, his thoughts consumed by you. He keeps wondering if he did something wrong, if he unintentionally hurt you. During one particular practice round, he zones out and gets hit in the face by the football. Hongjoong decides he’s not in any shape to continue and tells him to take a break. Sitting on the bleachers, Wooyoung is visibly frustrated, his body language tense. The team continues practicing, but Yunho notices Wooyoung’s state. The sight of Wooyoung being unhappy pains him, and he ends up tripping himself on purpose to earn a break and join Wooyoung on the bleachers.

“Hey, you alright?” Yunho asks, sitting beside him. Wooyoung snaps, “Does it look like I am?” Then, realizing his rudeness, he sighs. “Sorry, I’m just stressed.” Yunho waves it off. “It’s all good. What's got you so distracted lately?”

When Wooyoung doesn't answer, Yunho guesses, “Photo girl?” Wooyoung sighs, and this serves as the confirmation Yunho needs. “What happened? I haven’t seen you two together, or even her around lately.”

“I don’t know," Wooyoung admits. “I asked Yeosang, but he just said to be patient with her. She’s been avoiding me, and it reminds me of when she used to hate me. It’s like we’re back to square one.”

“And why do you think that bothers you so much?” Yunho asks gently. “I don’t know why she’s affecting me this way,” Wooyoung says, his frustration evident. “Why I’m so worried about her, why she’s all I can think about. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

Yunho looks at him thoughtfully. “Are you two dating?”

Wooyoung shakes his head. “No.”

“You should be.”

Wooyoung looks at him, confused. "What?"

"You only being able to think about her isn’t something that happens just casually to anyone,” Yunho explains. “You’re in love with her. Everyone can see it, but it seems you have no idea.” Wooyoung stares at Yunho, confusion etched on his face. “What are you talking about?”

Yunho sighs, deciding it's time to lay it all out. “Think about it. You’ve been troubled over her absence, worried about her well-being, and sad that she’s avoiding you. That’s not just a concern for a fellow citizen, Woo. It’s more than that. You’ve been affected by everything she does because you care deeply about her, more than just as a friend.”

Wooyoung's brows furrow as he tries to process this. “But... how can you be so sure?” Yunho leans back, trying to find the right words. “Remember when she used to avoid you and us as well? It bothered you then, too, but you were persistent. You wanted to know her, to be close to her. And now, when she finally opened up and let you in, she’s gone again. That emptiness you’re feeling? It’s because you love her, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung’s mind races as he recalls all the moments with you—the laughter, the shared secrets, the warmth he felt whenever you were around. “But if I love her, why didn’t I realize it?”

Yunho shrugs. “Sometimes, we’re too close to the situation to see it clearly. It’s like being in the middle of a storm and not realizing how bad it is until someone points it out. You’ve been so focused on her that you didn’t notice your own feelings.” Wooyoung looks down. “So, what am I supposed to do now?”

Yunho puts a hand on his shoulder. "Yeosang told you to be patient with her, right? That means she’s dealing with something, and she needs time. For now, you need to wait until she feels ready to approach you again. When that time comes, you can tell her how you feel.” Wooyoung’s frustration seeps into his voice. “But waiting is driving me insane.”

Yunho chuckles softly. “I know, but sometimes, waiting is all we can do. She’ll come around eventually. You just need to give her the space she needs. In the meantime, focus on being there for her when she’s ready. Just hang in there, okay?”

“Yeah,” Wooyoung says, feeling a bit lighter. “I’ll try.”

—

It’s now the day before the championships. As you walk to your first class, you pass by Mr. Kim in the hallway. You intend to greet him quickly and keep your head down, but he stops you. “Come to my office after school,” he says, his tone surprisingly neutral.

You look up, expecting his usual condescending demeanor, but instead, he seems different—awkward, for a lack of a better word. You nod, too puzzled to speak, and watch him walk away. You stand there for a moment, your mind racing with questions. Little did you know, Wooyoung had watched the interaction from afar, his curiosity piqued.

During lunch, you and Yeosang return to your usual spot in the cafeteria. The cafeteria is filled with chatter and laughter, but your table is unusually quiet. You poke at your food, lost in thought, replaying Mr. Kim’s words in your head. The weight of your mistake still lingers within you. Yeosang notices your distant expression. “What’s on your mind?” he asks gently, taking a sip of his drink.

You hesitate, biting your lip. “Mr. Kim told me to come to his office after school.” Yeosang raises an eyebrow in curiosity. “Really? What for?” You shrug, feeling a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. “I don’t know. It’s just strange. He didn’t seem... angry. Which was odd.”

A thoughtful look crosses Yeosang’s face. “Maybe he’s going to take you back,” he suggests, trying to infuse some optimism into the conversation. You look at him skeptically, your brow furrowing. “Why would he do that after lashing out at me? It doesn’t make any sense.”

Yeosang realizes you don’t know about Minjae confronting Mr. Kim. He decides to keep it to himself, not wanting to raise your hopes prematurely. He shrugs nonchalantly. “Well, who knows? The possibilities are endless. Maybe he realized he was too harsh.”

You glance around the cafeteria, your eyes scanning the sea of students. Your shoulders slump slightly when you don’t see who you’re looking for. Yeosang notices your wandering gaze and the faint disappointment that crosses your face.

“Who are you looking for?” he asks, though he already has a hunch of who it could be.You shake your head, trying to dismiss the thought. “No one,” you mumble, returning your attention to your untouched meal. A heavy silence falls between you, filled with unspoken thoughts. Finally, you break the silence, your voice tinged with worry. “Wooyoung doesn’t seem to be in good shape lately.”

“... Are you worried?” Yeosang asks gently, his eyes searching your face. “I don’t know,” you admit hesitantly. “I just hope he’ll do well in his championships.”

Later on after school, with a mix of trepidation and hope, you make your way to Mr. Kim’s office. When you reach the door, you take a deep breath and knock. “Come in,” Mr. Kim’s voice calls from within. Entering the office, you find Mr. Kim seated at his desk, looking unusually contemplative. The sternness that typically defines his demeanor seems to have softened slightly, replaced by an air of awkwardness. He clears his throat, eyes darting around the room as if searching for the right words.

“Sit down,” he says, gesturing to the chair placed in front of his desk. You do as you’re told, hands clasped tightly in your lap, waiting for him to speak. The silence stretches, thick with anticipation. Finally, Mr. Kim begins, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

“I’ve been thinking about what happened,” he says, avoiding your gaze. “About the festival and your... lapse in judgment.” You nod, bracing yourself for another scolding. But instead, he continues, his tone less harsh than you expected. “I was too severe. You’ve been a dedicated member of this publication, and I realized that one mistake shouldn’t overshadow all your hard work,” he admits, looking almost embarrassed.Your eyes widen in surprise.

“What do you mean...?” Mr. Kim shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m giving you a chance to prove yourself. The championships are tomorrow, and I want you to document it thoroughly. That will be the basis for whether or not I reinstate you.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Was this real? With the amount of times you’ve made up scenarios in your head about how things could’ve turned out had you not been reckless, you’re not even able to distinguish this between a fragment of your imagination or reality anymore.

Tears well up in your eyes, a mix of relief and gratitude. “Thank you, Mr. Kim. Thank you so much,” you say, your voice filled with an overwhelming amount of gratitude. He nods curtly, clearly uncomfortable with the sentiment. “Yes, well… you can go home now. Don’t let me down.”

You thank him again, nearly tripping over yourself in your haste to leave. As you step out of the office, a smile spreads across your face, the burden of the past few days lifting. You practically run to the school gates where Yeosang is waiting, and when he spots you, his face lights up with curiosity and concern. Seeing the tears in your eyes and the smile on your face, his worry quickly turns to joy.

“Hey, what’s—”

Before he can say anything else, you blurt out, “Mr. Kim is giving me a chance! He wants me to document the championships tomorrow!”

Yeosang’s eyes widened in surprise and happiness. “That’s amazing! See, I told you! I knew he couldn’t just throw you out like that,” He pulls you into a tight hug, the two of you celebrating in joy. It feels like an eternity has passed since you last smiled, even though it’s only been two weeks.

“Thank you for always believing in me,” you say, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I’ll never not believe in you,” Yeosang replies proudly, his smile genuine. As you both revel in the good news, the football team exits the school after their practice match, their boisterous voices filling the air. Wooyoung lags behind the group, his usual exuberance dampened by a quiet melancholy. When he spots you and Yeosang celebrating, he stops in his tracks, a look of yearning and sorrow crossing his face.

For him, time seems to slow. He watches the joyful interaction between you and Yeosang, a pang of longing hitting him hard. His heart aches with a mix of regret and confusion, feelings he has been struggling to understand ever since you started avoiding him. You, still caught up in your conversation with Yeosang, fail to notice Wooyoung. Your back is turned to him, and you’re too wrapped up in the moment to sense his presence. But Yeosang sees him, and their eyes meet. Yeosang gives Wooyoung a small, supportive smile.

Wooyoung tries to return the smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He turns away, rejoining his teammates as they head out of the school gates, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and unresolved feelings. As he walks away, he can’t shake the image of your happy face, feeling more eager than ever to find out what went wrong and how he can make it right.

As you and Yeosang walk home, the excitement of the conversation with Mr. Kim begins to wear off, replaced by a creeping sense of dread. The realization hits you like a freight train. Documenting the championships means being on the field, watching Wooyoung play. It means being in the same space as him after all your efforts to keep him at a distance.

You stop abruptly, causing Yeosang to look back at you with concern. “What’s wrong?” he asks. You sigh, rubbing your temples. “I just realized documenting the championships means I’ll have to be around Wooyoung—after all this time I’ve spent avoiding him.”

Yeosang nods thoughtfully. “Oh… right. But, hey, Mr. Kim already gave you a second chance. There’s no longer a need to distance yourself from Wooyoung, right? I mean, it’s clear that avoiding him has been really hard for you.”

You let out a bitter laugh. "That makes sense, but... I’ve been avoiding him for two weeks straight without telling him what’s wrong. The last time we interacted, everything was fine. Now, I’m worried that he thinks he did something wrong. That’s all I can think about whenever I see him on campus and I act like he doesn’t exist. The guilt has been eating me alive.”

Yeosang gives you a sympathetic look. “I get it. But hey, you had your reasons, right?” You nod in agreement. “Well, yeah. But I don’t understand why Wooyoung is still trying to get my attention when I’ve made it clear that I can't talk to him.”

Yeosang chuckles softly. “Oh, that's simple. He’s in love with you.”

You stop dead in your tracks, staring at Yeosang in disbelief. “What are you talking about? Stop joking.”

Yeosang shakes his head, his expression serious. “I’m not joking. Wooyoung is in love with you. Think about it. All the times he’s gone out of his way to be near you, the way he looks at you, the effort he puts into getting your attention. Those aren’t the actions of someone who’s indifferent, are they?” You frown, trying to process his words. “But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he be in love with me?”

Yeosang sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re still not seeing it, are you? Let me spell it out for you. When you first started avoiding him, it was clear he was confused and hurt. But instead of giving up, he kept trying to find out what went wrong. He’s been distracted during practices, worried sick about you. He asked me about you, and I told him to be patient. He’s been following that advice, even though it's tearing him apart.”

“I didn’t realize…” you trail off, feeling your guilt spread even further. Yeosang continues, “And then there are all the little things. The way he lights up when you’re around, the way he’s always willing to do anything just to try to make you smile, the way he watches you when you’re not looking, the way he talks about you to others. He’s never given up on you, even when you’ve given him every reason to.” You swallow hard, the weight of Yeosang's words sinking in. 

“And what about you?”

You raise an eyebrow. “What about me?”

“Do you love him?” he asks, his voice gentle but probing.

You open your mouth to answer, but the words get tangled in your throat. Do you love Wooyoung? You stop to think, memories flooding your mind. You remember the first time you met him, how he annoyed you with his relentless enthusiasm. But over time, that annoyance turned into something else. You began to appreciate his persistence, his kindness, and his unwavering support. You recall the times he made you laugh, even when you didn’t want to, and the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to cheer you up.

You think about the countless moments you’ve shared, the conversations you had when it was only the two of you around, the time he invited you to play football with him so your spirits could be lifted up, the unspoken understanding between you. You remember the way your heart would race whenever he was near, and the ache you felt when you had to push him away.

“I... I don’t know,” you finally whisper, though deep down, you realize you do know. You’re just afraid to admit it.

Yeosang smiles softly, as if he can see right through you. “Maybe it will all make sense to you tomorrow during the game.”

—

The atmosphere in the locker room is thick with tension. It’s the day of the university football championships, and everyone is preparing themselves mentally and physically for the big game. The sound of cleats clicking against the tile floor, the rustle of jerseys being pulled over heads, and the occasional nervous banter fill the room. Wooyoung sits on the bench, staring blankly at his cleats, his mind elsewhere.

Hongjoong notices Wooyoung's distant look and sits down next to him. “Hey, Woo,” he says softly. “You sure you want to play today? You don’t look too good.” Wooyoung snaps out of his trance, forcing a smile. “Yeah, I can do it. I can do it.” But even as he says the words, doubt laces his voice.

Hongjoong places a reassuring hand on Wooyoung's shoulder. “Look, I know what’s been bothering you. And I know it’s hard. But you have to trust me when I say she’ll show up.” But Wooyoung doesn’t seem to be on the same bright side as Hongjoong. “What if she doesn’t? What if she doesn’t come?” Hongjoong squeezes his shoulder. “Then you’ll play for yourself and for the team. But I have a feeling she’ll be here. Just trust me.”

The stands are packed with students, faculty, and supporters, all buzzing with anticipation. The announcers, Mr. Lee and Ms. Park, take their seats in the commentator’s box, ready to call the game. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the university football championships! We have an exciting match ahead of us today,” Mr. Lee announces enthusiastically.

“That’s right, Mr. Lee. Our home team will be facing off 

against the formidable opponents from Eastside University,” Ms. Park adds. Their voices boom through the loudspeakers, introducing the two teams and hyping up the crowd. The players line up, waving to the cheering spectators. The opposing team looks formidable, their players tall and intimidating. The tension is palpable as both teams take their positions on the field.

Wooyoung scans the bleachers, searching for your face among the sea of people. He doesn’t find you, and his heart sinks. The whistle blows, and the game begins.

You, on the other hand, had just woken from your slumber—a little later than usual, as the adrenaline and mixture of emotions from the previous night kept you up. Panic sets in as you realize the championships are starting soon. You hurriedly get dressed, grab your camera, and rush to catch the bus, messaging Yeosang along the way.  “Have the games started yet?” you type frantically. “They just started,” Yeosang replies. “Hurry up!”

Traffic is a nightmare, and every minute feels like an eternity. At the field, Minjae and Yeosang are already documenting the match. Minjae turns to Yeosang, a concerned look on his face. “Where is she? You said she was given another chance by Mr. Kim.” Yeosang explains your situation, and Minjae decides to cover for you until you arrive.

From the kickoff, Eastside University takes control of the ball. Their captain, Hanbin, swiftly maneuvers past the midfielders, displaying impressive footwork. He passes the ball to their forward, Gunwook, who attempts a shot on goal. “Gunwook with an early shot! But it’s blocked by Yunho, our goalkeeper,” Mr. Lee comments.

The home team tries to regain their footing, but their movements are sluggish, and their passes lack precision. Wooyoung intercepts a pass and starts to dribble down the field, but he’s quickly surrounded by defenders. He hesitates, looking for an open teammate, but no one is in position. He loses the ball, and Eastside counterattacks. “Eastside University is pressing hard. They seem to have a clear strategy to target Wooyoung,” Ms. Park notes.

Hanbin sends a long pass to their winger, Jiwoong, who sprints down the sideline. He crosses the ball into the box, and Gunwook is there again to meet it with a powerful header. “Goal! Gunwook scores for Eastside University. It’s 1-0,” Mr. Lee announces.

Wooyoung’s team looks deflated. Their coordination is off, with players missing passes and failing to cover their marks. Wooyoung tries to rally his team, but his own mind is clouded with thoughts of you. The ball is back in play, and Eastside continues their aggressive approach. Wooyoung manages to break through the midfield and takes a shot, but it goes wide. The frustration is evident on his face. “This isn’t looking good for our team. They need to regroup and find their rhythm,” Ms. Park says.

Finally, you arrive at the field, out of breath and frazzled. Minjae and Yeosang immediately give you a rundown of what’s been happening. “Wooyoung has been out of it,” Yeosang says, worry etched on his face. “Everyone's noticed. It’s obvious he’s not in his best form.” Concern floods your chest. “What do you mean he’s out of it?” Yeosang sighs. “He’s been distracted, demotivated. It’s like his spirit is just...gone.”

Your heart aches at his words. You bid him and Minjae farewell for the meantime and a spot on the bleachers, ready your camera, and prepare to do your job—yet you can’t help but let your worries cloud you.

The team’s defense is struggling to contain Eastside’s relentless attacks. A pass from Jiwoong to his teammate, Matthew, results in a one-on-one with the goalkeeper, Yunho. Matthew fakes left and shoots right, scoring his second goal of the match. “Matthew scores with a goal! It’s 2-0 for Eastside,” Mr. Lee exclaims.

Wooyoung’s frustration grows. He gets the ball again and tries to dribble past three defenders but is tackled hard. He hits the ground, and the referee calls a foul. “Free kick for our team. Wooyoung will take it,” Mr. Lee says.

Wooyoung sets up for the free kick, his eyes scanning the field. He curls the ball towards the goal, but it hits the crossbar and bounces out. The crowd groans in frustration, and their team calls for a timeout. “Snap out of it, Wooyoung! We need you in the game, not in your head,” the coach barks at him.

Wooyoung nods mechanically, but his mind is far away. The timeout ends, and the team drags themselves back onto the field, still trailing behind. As they line up for the final half, San sidles up to Wooyoung, giving him a gentle nudge. 

“Look to your right.”

Wooyoung turns, his heart skipping a beat. There you are, sitting in the bleachers with your DSLR camera in hand, eyes focused on him. In that instant, the fog in Wooyoung’s mind clears, replaced by a surge of determination. He straightens up, his gaze hardening with resolve.

The referee blows the whistle, and the final half begins. Wooyoung’s transformation is immediate. He moves with renewed energy, his steps light and purposeful. The crowd senses the shift, their cheers growing louder. “Woah, Wooyoung is back! Look at him go,” Ms. Park exclaims from the commentary box.

Wooyoung intercepts a pass and starts a swift counterattack. He weaves through defenders with ease, his focus razor-sharp. He passes the ball to Jongho, who takes a shot. The opposing team’s goalkeeper, Taerae, dives, but Jongho’s aim is direct. The ball hits the back of the net. “Goal! Jongho scores! It’s 2-1,” Mr. Lee shouts.

The team feeds off Wooyoung’s energy. Seonghwa and Hongjoong step up their game, working in perfect harmony. Hongjoong makes a crucial interception and passes to Seonghwa, who crosses the ball into the box. Wooyoung is there to meet it, heading the ball into the net. “Another goal for Wooyoung! It’s 2-2. What a comeback,” Ms. Park cheers.

With the score level, the tension is at its peak. Both teams are giving their all, but Wooyoung’s team has the momentum. Wooyoung receives a pass from Mingi and charges towards the goal. He’s tackled hard, but the ball rolls to Seonghwa, who shoots and scores. “Seonghwa scores! Our team takes the lead, 3-2,” Mr. Lee announces, the crowd roaring in approval.

Eastside tries to equalize, but the home team’s defense is solid. Hongjoong makes a critical save, keeping their lead intact. As the clock winds down, the pressure mounts. In the final minutes, the ball is at Wooyoung’s feet. He dribbles past two defenders, eyes locked on the goal. He takes a deep breath and shoots. As if right on time, you capture the perfect shot with your DSLR, the ball soaring through the air towards the goal. The ball curves beautifully, sailing past the goalkeeper and into the net.

“Goal! Wooyoung scores the final goal! It’s 4-2,” Ms. Park screams.

The whistle blows, signaling the end of the match. The stadium erupts in cheers. Wooyoung’s teammates rush to him, lifting him into the air in celebration. They toss him up, chanting his name. As you capture the moment through your lens, you notice Wooyoung looking directly at you, a triumphant smile on his face.

When the team finally sets Wooyoung down, he immediately bolts toward the bleachers. You’re positioned at the very front, ensuring you have the best angles for your shots. Seeing him run toward you, your heart races.

“Hey, I—” you begin, leaning closer.

But Wooyoung doesn’t let you finish. He pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you so firmly it feels like he never wants to let go. The warmth of his body against yours is overwhelming, and for a moment, the world fades away.

The crowd gasps in shock, then bursts into squeals and screams, cameras flashing as they capture the moment. You’re about to tell Wooyoung that everyone is watching and taking pictures, but he speaks first, his voice muffled in your shoulder.

“I missed you so much,” he whispers, his words filled with raw emotion.

You pull back slightly, enough to look into his eyes, which are filled with a mix of relief, joy, and something deeper that makes your heart ache. “I… I missed you too,” you say, your voice breaking. The noise around you fades as you both stand there, lost in each other’s eyes. It’s as if time has stopped, and there’s only the two of you in this crowded stadium.

“I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Wooyoung,” You speak up, your voice heavy with emotion. “I’m sorry for disappearing out of nowhere. I’m sorry for not telling you about what I was going through, I was just… I was scared. I should’ve—”

He gently shushes you, his hands on either side of your face. “Everything’s alright, okay? You’re here now, and that’s all that matters to me. And for the record, I don’t mind waiting for you a million times more—just as long as you promise me you’ll come back every single time, too.”

Behind you, the crowd erupts in cheers and laughter, but it’s a distant sound, an echo of a world outside this bubble you and Wooyoung have created.

“You’ll… you’ll stay now, right?” Wooyoung asks, and the worried tone in his voice strikes a chord right deep in your heart. 

“I will. I won’t leave.”

Meanwhile, a little distance away, Yunho and Mingi are watching the heartwarming scene unfold. A week ago, they had made a bet about you and Wooyoung reconciling exactly during the championships. Yunho had been on the agreeing side, while Mingi had not.

Yunho grins and turns to Mingi. 

“So, about that bet...”

🪞— lividstar.

[lividstar]

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤSLY FOX, DUMB BUNNY

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤChapter One

៚ wc: 37k

៚ fluff, heavy angst, wooyoung x secret agent!reader, slowburn, ???s to lovers, mutual pining, designated codenames for plot purposes

៚ warnings: heavy violence, usage of weapons, mentions of murder, dark themes in general

៚ playlist !

៚ Leading a life filled with secrets was never bound to be easy. From the moment you stepped into the world of espionage, you knew by then that there would be no chance to rewind the minutes once you decided to stand firm with your decision—you knew it came at a huge cost of needing to detach yourself from those you held connections with in order to ensure they wouldn’t accidentally be dragged into the dangers your entire existence in itself consisted of, but you had been taught better than to back down. And it wasn’t exactly like it was a hard task to complete, anyway, as you never had any problems with still being all by yourself even in an age where billions of people occupied the world in the first place. Unfortunately, life comes in a package deal with a surge of twists, and in your case, Jung Wooyoung, the presence that accompanies you almost everyday during your job as a librarian within the “normal” half of your life, was the twist in question. Who would’ve failed to guess you weren’t the only person in the universe who had major secrets to keep? Both you and Wooyoung himself, apparently.

a/n: i’m still on a break but i figured i’d publish this since it’s been sitting on my drafts for weeks lol (your codename is a shortened version of “sylvilagus genus,” a.k.a the scientific term for a cottontail rabbit) this will have a part 2!

Mastering the art of multitasking can be achieved in a vast sea of ways that all differ from one another. One could say watching a movie while finishing homework could count as a valid form of juggling two tasks with one hand. Multitasking could also come in the form of getting ready for a late night out while arguing with your partner through the phone. Some would even argue that opening different computer tabs at once should also be up in the list. Simply put, there’s no fixed context to it—it’s subjective, and you have all the freedom to interpret it in a way that helps you sleep.

In your case, however, mastering the art of multitasking was a journey certainly not as easy as the combinations of activities mentioned above.

Your journey into the world of espionage began in the most unlikely of places: a dusty, old bookshop in a forgotten corner of the city. It was there, amidst the stacks of ancient tomes and forgotten manuscripts, that you first met the man who would change your life forever. He was a retired agent, masquerading as the shop’s owner, and he saw something in you that no one else had—a keen mind, a sharp eye for detail, and an insatiable curiosity. He became your mentor, teaching you the secrets of his trade. Under his guidance, you learned the art of surveillance, the intricacies of disguise, and the delicate skill of deciphering codes. It was a rigorous training regimen, filled with sleepless nights and countless challenges, but you thrived on it. Your determination and resilience set you apart, and before long, you were recruited into the organization.

Balancing your dual life was no easy feat. By day, you immersed yourself in the quiet, orderly world of the library, where your meticulous nature and problem-solving skills earned you the respect of your colleagues and patrons. You thrived in the tranquility of the stacks, finding solace in the knowledge contained within the pages of the books you so carefully curated.

By night, however, you navigated a world of shadows and deception. The training you had undergone was relentless. Physical conditioning, combat training, advanced technology—every aspect of your life was geared towards making you the perfect operative. You were taught to be adaptable, to think on your feet, and to always be three steps ahead of your adversaries.

Your rise through the ranks was swift. Your keen intellect and unerring instincts made you an invaluable asset to the organization. You had a natural talent for uncovering hidden truths and solving puzzles that left others baffled. Your missions took you to the far corners of the globe, from the loud streets of Tokyo to the ancient ruins of Rome, each assignment more challenging than the last.

But with every success came a deeper entanglement in the web of espionage. The impact on your personal life was profound. Relationships became strained as you struggled to maintain your cover. The constant danger and secrecy took a toll on you, leaving you isolated and wary of those around you. Yet, despite the sacrifices, you remained committed to your cause, driven by a sense of duty and a desire to protect the world’s treasures from falling into the wrong hands.

The library became both your sanctuary and your camouflage. You mastered the art of compartmentalizing your life, slipping seamlessly between your two identities. Your colleagues marveled at your efficiency and dedication, unaware of the adrenaline-fueled nights you spent in pursuit of justice.

Each day, you donned the mask of a librarian, but beneath that calm exterior lay a formidable operative, always ready for the next mission. The juxtaposition of your two lives was stark, yet you found a strange harmony in the duality. The quiet moments in the library allowed you to recharge and refocus, while the thrill of espionage kept your skills sharp and your mind agile.

As you sat at your desk, a cup of tea steaming beside you and a stack of books waiting to be shelved, you couldn’t help but reflect on the path that had brought you here. From the dusty bookshop to the heart of a covert spy organization, your journey has been anything but ordinary. Just then, while you’re busy typing away on your computer, the door to the library swings open, the gentle chime signaling the arrival of a customer. Looking up from your screen, a warm smile immediately finds its way to your face when you recognize the visitor.

Jung Wooyoung.

From the start, Wooyoung had always loved frequenting the library. The elderly librarian whose place you took before she retired had often spoken of him. She was a sweet old woman, and according to her, Wooyoung had been visiting the library ever since he was a little boy. Over the years, she had grown fond of him, so much so that even as she packed her things to leave, she told you to take care of him and always ensure he left the library with a smile on his face. It was endearing, in a way. She had also mentioned that Wooyoung was a very sweet boy, filled with optimism and never seen without a smile. You’d been skeptical of this before you started working as the librarian, but upon meeting him, you quickly realized she was right.

Wooyoung was genuinely sweet. The first time he entered the library under your watch, he was visibly shocked to see you at the registrar instead of the familiar old librarian who had watched him grow up. When he approached the counter to return the books he had borrowed the previous week, you could see the unspoken question in his eyes, the hesitation to ask about her, afraid of offending you somehow. Sensing his unease, you took the initiative to explain. “She had to go out of town to stay with her daughter because this library doesn’t provide enough money for her to pay rent,” you had said in a neutral yet soft tone, remembering how his eyes had clouded with sadness.

Feeling a strange need to cheer him up, you had added, “Before she left, she told me many stories about you. She said you were a really sweet boy, and that once I start working here, I should always make sure you leave the library with a smile on your face. She seemed to have been very fond of you.” You could still picture the way his eyes sparkled with surprise and delight as he gasped, “Really?” You had simply nodded, offering him a small, reassuring smile. Over time, you grew fond of his presence as well. Your days seemed a little incomplete when he didn’t visit the library. There was something comforting about his regular appearances, a sense of normalcy in your otherwise dual life.

“Hey, Wooyoung. It’s been a while,” you greeted him with a smile, taking a sip of your coffee.

Wooyoung walked towards the registrar, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty busy these days.”

Curiosity piqued, you wondered what had kept him so occupied, but you chose not to pry, figuring it was probably a matter that demands privacy. “It’s nice to have you back.”

“Really? I was beginning to think you were growing tired of seeing my face every day,” he joked lightly, eliciting a muffled, short laugh from you.

“I beg to differ. If anything, a shift at work doesn’t quite make it to the shelf of good days unless you pay the library a visit,” you said, diverting your attention from the computer to the books he had placed on the counter. “The History of Art?”

“Thought I’d check out something new,” he shrugged, causing the loose collar of his knitted sweater to slip off his shoulder a little.

“Always exploring, aren’t you?” you remarked, scanning the books into the system. “Did anything in particular catch your interest in art history?”

He grinned, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You could say I’m looking for inspiration.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Inspiration for what?” Wooyoung leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “That’s a secret.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Alright, keep your secrets. Just make sure to return the books on time.”

“I always do,” he replied, flashing you a playful wink.

As Wooyoung made his way to his usual spot by the window, you couldn’t help but watch him for a moment longer. There was something about him that drew you in, a charisma that was hard to resist. And yet, there was also an air of mystery around him, something that made you curious and kept you guessing.

Another endearing trait of Wooyoung was that despite his sweet demeanor, he had a teasing side that surfaced on rare occasions—like right now. It was one of those fascinating nuances that kept you intrigued by him. There were many layers to Wooyoung’s personality, and each one seemed more captivating than the last. Sometimes, you found yourself wondering if there were even more depths to him that you had yet to discover. You weren’t exactly close friends with him, after all. Sure, the two of you enjoyed spending a few minutes engaging in conversations, but they were mostly centered around the books he borrowed and returned. Your interactions were limited to the confines of the library. Beyond its walls, you knew little about him. You didn’t have his number, didn’t know his favorite coffee shop, or even what he did on weekends. Were you acquaintances? One could say that. Were you friends? That was a more complicated question.

The ambiguity of your relationship often left you pondering. On one hand, it felt like there was a budding friendship forming, built on shared moments of literary discussion and mutual respect. On the other hand, there was a clear boundary that neither of you had crossed, a line that kept your lives distinctly separate. Perhaps it was better this way. Your life was already a chaotic blend of librarian by day and spy by night. Adding Wooyoung into the mix didn’t seem wise. Because of that, you often had to remind yourself that you weren’t just a mere librarian. Your nights were filled with missions and dangers that he couldn’t even begin to imagine. Bringing Wooyoung into your world would only complicate things further, potentially putting his life on the line. It was a risk you weren’t willing to take.

Sometimes, as you watched him immerse himself in a new book or share a light-hearted joke, you couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to know him outside of the library. To share a coffee, a laugh, maybe even a secret or two. But then reality would set in, reminding you of the double life you led and the responsibilities that came with it. Perhaps you two were meant to stay like this, connected within the safe, quiet haven of the library but living entirely separate lives outside its walls. It was a delicate balance, one that allowed you to enjoy his company without the complications that deeper involvement would surely bring.

In the quiet moments, as you reshelved books or sipped your coffee while watching him from a distance, you found a strange comfort in the simplicity of your interactions. They were uncomplicated, free from the burdens of your other life. And maybe that was enough. For now, you were content with the way things were—connected in the library, yet worlds apart outside of it.

While you’re busy working, your invisible in-ear device—designed solely for your organization to contact you and deliver news without blowing your cover—beeps. A voice mail from one of the higher-ups begins to play. “Agent Sylvil, this is Director Han. There’s a meeting scheduled for tonight at 2100 hours. We need you to head to the headquarters as soon as possible. There have been some developments that require your immediate attention. Do not be late.”

The stern and authoritative voice of Director Han successfully drags you out of your thoughts. The voicemail serves as a very direct and firm reminder of why exactly you can’t let Wooyoung into your world. You let out a sigh, the weight of your duties pressing down on you, and look up from your computer. There, just a few tables and aisles away, sits Wooyoung. To your surprise, you find him already looking at you. His expression is unreadable, a mixture of curiosity and something else you can’t quite place. Before you can muster a smile, he quickly averts his gaze, focusing intently on the book laid out in front of him on the desk.

You check the time. Three hours before your shift ends and three hours before you have to go to the headquarters. The clock seems to tick louder, each second a reminder of your impending duties. You reach for your mug, only to be surprised by its unexpected lightness. You hadn’t even noticed you had already drunk all of your coffee, too consumed by your swirling thoughts. Sighing, you place the empty mug down and rub your temples. The simplicity of your interactions with Wooyoung had a comforting allure, a stark contrast to the complexity of your covert life. But moments like this voicemail snap you back to reality, emphasizing the clear line that must be maintained between your librarian persona and your identity as a spy.

You glance at Wooyoung one last time. He’s engrossed in his book, completely unaware of the clandestine world you navigate outside the library. Part of you envies his ignorance, the peaceful simplicity of a life not bound by secrets and danger. As the minutes tick by, you try to refocus on your work. Yet, the knowledge of the meeting and what it could entail lingers at the back of your mind, an insistent reminder of the life you lead when the library doors close. You can’t afford distractions, and certainly not ones that come with a charming smile and a newfound penchant for art history.

Time passes before you even realize it. Wooyoung had left just a couple of minutes ago, and now it was time to close the library. Thankfully, there were no longer any patrons in the place, making it easier for you to wrap things up. You methodically gather your belongings, lock the doors, and roll down the metal shutter to secure the entrance.

Once everything is in order, you make your way to the headquarters, located deep in a deserted alleyway that no one would suspect. As you approach the unassuming brick wall, you press a hidden button concealed within a loose brick. The wall slides open silently, revealing a sleek, high-tech entrance. You step inside, greeted by a sterile corridor illuminated by dim, bluish lights. As you walk, sensors scan your biometric data, confirming your identity. The walls shimmer momentarily before displaying a welcome message on a holographic screen. You continue down the hallway until you reach a large metal door. It opens automatically as you approach, revealing an elevator.

Entering the elevator, you press your hand against a glass panel. A soft voice confirms, “Identity verified. Welcome, Agent Sylvil.” The elevator descends rapidly, and you feel a slight shift in gravity before it comes to a smooth stop. The door then slides open. Inside, the headquarters hums with activity. Agents bustle about, attending to their tasks with a precision borne of rigorous training. The air is thick with the scent of coffee and the faint hum of advanced machinery. You navigate through the labyrinthine hallways to the meeting room, arriving just as the clock ticks to 2100 hours. You sigh in relief; at least you are right on time.

The meeting room is stark and minimalist, dominated by a large, interactive screen on one wall. The table is already set with a holographic projector and various data pads. You take a seat, maintaining a neutral expression as the Director, the highest-ranking officer in your organization, greets you.

“Agent Sylvil,” she begins, “thank you for coming on such short notice.” You take a seat, maintaining a neutral expression as she starts to brief you on a new rising threat hidden in the shadows. “Our security patrol has reported the appearance of a new thief on the scene.”

You shift slightly in your seat, intrigued but careful to remain composed. “So far, we’ve managed to gather only a few pieces of information,” Director Han says, her tone grim. “This thief is a young man, around your age, and has been given the codename ‘Crimson Fox’ as a patrol member had described him to us as a stealthy, cunning being. Despite our best efforts, we’ve been unable to track him or gather any substantial intel, which is highly unusual for our operations.”

Your curiosity is piqued now. “And what makes him so different from the others we’ve dealt with?” you ask, leaning forward.

Director Han taps the air, and a screen projects in front of you, displaying the image of a priceless painting by an obscure Renaissance artist named “The Midnight Watch.”

“What about this?” you inquired, needing further context as to why she was showing you this painting in particular.

“Based on the analysis made by Director Kang, the Crimson Fox is most likely eyeing this artifact as his target,” she continues, “and because of this, we’re assigning you the mission to capture the Crimson Fox and prevent him from getting his hands on this artifact at all costs.”

You study the projected screen, reading a particular statement that says this painting is highly guarded. You then click on the arrow button on the right to read the other pages containing further information. “It says here that this painting does not hold any significant form of value,” you point out, turning to Director Han. “Shouldn’t this mission be passed down to an agent of a lower rank?”

“Do not question your duties,” she interjects, coming off a little too defensive than necessary, making your eyebrows slightly furrow in confusion. Noticing the expression on your face, she clears her throat, composing herself.

“Well, we cannot pass this down to a less experienced agent because the Crimson Fox is not like any of the thieves you’ve encountered before. His methods are untraceable,” she admits. “He leaves no clues behind. Our tech team has been working around the clock to find any digital footprints, but so far, they’ve come up empty-handed. His skills are... unprecedented.”

You nod slowly, processing the information. “Hence why you believe I’m the best person for this mission?” you ask, needing to hear it from her directly.

Director Han’s gaze is intense as she looks at you. “Precisely. If you complete this mission successfully, you will be promoted to a higher-up position. If you fail, the consequences won’t fall solely on you—but rather on the entire organization. A professional criminal on the loose is unacceptable.”

She pauses for a moment, letting the gravity of the situation sink in. “We believe you are the only one capable of catching him. Your track record speaks for itself, and your unique skill set makes you the ideal candidate.”

You take a deep breath. “I understand,” you say firmly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to bring him in.”

Director Han nods approvingly. “Good. We’ve gathered all the intel we could on the Crimson Fox, although it’s not much. You’ll find the files in your personal database. Study them thoroughly. We need you to be ready for anything.” She taps a few buttons on the console, and the screen shifts to display a detailed map of the Crimson Fox’s recent sightings. “These are the sites of his recent activities. Notice the pattern?”

You squint at the map, recognizing the strategic positioning of each move of his. “He’s traveling in a circle, gradually tightening the radius around... here,” you point to a central location.

“Precisely,” the Director confirms. “That’s why we need to act fast before he gets his hands on The Midnight Watch.”

You rise from your seat, nodding at Director Han with a firm gaze. “Consider it done.”

When you leave the meeting room, you tap the high-tech wristwatch you wear, which then automatically transforms your attire from the pencil skirt and white dress shirt you wore for work at the library into your high-tech suit. The suit itself is a marvel of modern engineering, designed specifically for covert operations. Made from a lightweight, flexible material known as nanotex, it adapts to your body’s movements, providing both comfort and protection. The outer layer is reinforced with a graphene mesh that can deflect small-caliber bullets and absorb impacts, while the inner layer is equipped with temperature-regulating technology to keep you comfortable in any environment.

Embedded within the suit are a series of micro-circuits that allow for advanced functionalities. A holographic interface on your left forearm can project a variety of tools, from a digital map to hacking devices. The gloves are equipped with micro-suction technology, enabling you to scale vertical surfaces with ease. Your boots contain silent thrusters for controlled leaps and soft landings, ensuring your movements remain undetected. The suit’s most impressive feature, however, is its adaptive camouflage, which can mimic the colors and textures of your surroundings, rendering you nearly invisible in low-light conditions.

You head back to the elevator, this time to leave the headquarters, and when you emerge back on the surface, you’re met by the cold, chilly evening air. You glance up at the moon, taking a moment to center yourself before slipping on the mask that conceals your identity. The mask is crafted from a similar nanotex material as the suit and is fitted with an advanced HUD (heads-up display) that provides real-time data on your surroundings. It also features voice modulation to disguise your voice, and a built-in rebreather allows for up to an hour of air supply in case of emergency. The mask’s exterior is matte black, designed to absorb light and avoid detection, with a sleek, streamlined shape that conforms to your facial structure.

You shoot a grappling device, known as a grapnel gun, into the air. It’s equipped with a high-tensile cable and a powerful winch, allowing you to ascend quickly and quietly to the top of a tall building. The device anchors itself into the wall, and with a quick flick of your wrist, you are pulled up, your body rising effortlessly into the night sky. Stealthily, you jump and move in swift, agile motions across the rooftops, blending into the cityscape as you head towards the museum that houses The Midnight Watch.

Upon reaching the museum, you find an entrance through an open window on the roof. You move with careful precision, avoiding the beams of light from the security cameras and the paths of patrolling guards. Your suit’s camouflage feature helps you blend into the shadows, making you nearly invisible. Just as the data earlier described, the museum is heavily guarded. The question of why it’s so heavily protected lingers in your mind, adding to the mystery.

Finding a vantage point on the roof, you settle into the shadows, your form melding seamlessly with the darkness. You scan the area, eyes sharp for any sign of movement. Just then, you catch a glimpse of another figure moving swiftly on the ground, approaching the museum from the opposite side. The fluidity of their movements, the confident strides—it can only be one person. Just as you predicted.

The Crimson Fox.

You watch him effortlessly maneuver through the red laser security beams, his movements so fluid and precise that it almost seems like a choreographed dance. It’s not every day you encounter a thief as skilled as he is—it’s almost as if he moves just like you, with the same blend of agility and precision. Carefully, you shift to a different position, your eyes never leaving him as he edges closer to the painting. Timing it perfectly as he flips in the air, you press a button on your suit, launching a high-tech tracking dart. The dart, sleek and nearly invisible, is designed to embed itself in the target and transmit their location back to your suit’s HUD in real time.

Much to your surprise, he catches it mid-air with his fingers, an impressive feat that makes your eyes widen momentarily. When he lands, just before he can turn his head to pinpoint where the dart came from, you swiftly and silently drop down from your perch, avoiding the lasers with practiced ease. You move in circles, attempting to distract him. He mirrors your movements, staying just a millisecond behind you. The dance of shadows and swift movements continues, each of you testing the other’s limits. You leap into the air, aiming to tackle him, but he’s quick, instantly jumping to another spot, leaving you to land where he had just been.

“You’re pretty good, huh?” he says, his voice deep and sultry. “Too bad you’re not good enough.”

He throws a decoy object into the air, your eyes widening in surprise. You run to the wall, using it as a springboard to propel yourself into the air, catching the object just before it hits a laser. When you turn, you see the Crimson Fox already on the other side of the room, making his way to the museum’s exit hall with the painting in hand. He flashes you a playful wink through his mask before making a run for it. You let out a soft groan of frustration, quickly maneuvering through the lasers to match his pace. Your movements are precise, calculated, but so are his. The chase is on.

Your suit’s augmented reality system projects a map of the museum, highlighting potential exits and security points. You see him head for the nearest exit and you take a shortcut through a series of narrow corridors, hoping to cut him off. As you race through the labyrinthine hallways, your mind races, analyzing his possible routes and strategies.

Bursting out into the main hall, you spot him just a few meters ahead, his figure sleek and confident. You pick up speed, your boots’ silent thrusters giving you an extra burst. Just as he reaches for the door, you leap forward, tackling him to the ground. The painting slips from his grasp, sliding across the marble floor. He rolls with the impact, attempting to pin you, but you’re faster. You twist out of his hold, springing to your feet and blocking his path to the painting. For a moment, the two of you stand there, eyes locked in a silent challenge. “You’re not getting away from me,” you state, your voice firm.

His lips curve into a smirk beneath his mask. “We’ll see about that.”

In a flurry of motion, the fight resumes. He’s fast, but so are you. Each strike and counter-strike is a blur, a testament to both your skills. He lunges forward, aiming a punch at your midsection, but you sidestep just in time, bringing your elbow down toward his back. He twists away, grinning beneath his mask.

“Is that all you’ve got, Agent?” he taunts, his voice laced with mockery.

You remain silent, your expression calm and composed. You know better than to rise to his bait. Instead, you focus on your breathing, your movements, waiting for the perfect moment. He circles you, his eyes gleaming with amusement and challenge.

“Aww, come on, don’t be so cold,” he continues, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I thought we were having fun.”

He throws a high kick toward your head, but you duck under it, countering with a swift jab to his ribs. He grunts, stepping back but quickly recovering. He swipes at your legs with a low kick, attempting to unbalance you. You jump, spinning mid-air to deliver a kick to his chest. He blocks it, but the force pushes him back a step.

“Not bad,” he admits, still smirking. “You’ll have to do better than that, though.”

You narrow your eyes, deciding to up the ante. You feint a punch to his face, and when he moves to block, you pivot, delivering a knee to his stomach. He doubles over slightly, but his reflexes are sharp. He grabs your leg, twisting you off balance. You roll with the motion, using the momentum to bring your other leg around in a sweeping kick that catches him off guard. He stumbles, and you seize the opportunity, launching a rapid series of punches. He blocks most of them, but you manage to land a solid hit to his jaw. He staggers, but then a glint of something mischievous flashes in his eyes.

“You’re pretty impressive,” he breathes, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. “But let’s see how you’ll turn this in your favor.”

With that, he pulls out a small, round device from his belt and throws it to the ground. A thick cloud of smoke erupts, enveloping you both. Your vision blurs, the acrid scent stinging your eyes and nose. You cough, trying to clear your senses as you hear his footsteps moving through the haze.

“You think a little smoke will stop me?” you call out, your voice steady despite the irritation in your throat.

“Oh, I don’t expect it to stop you,” his voice echoes back, sly and teasing. “Just slow you down.”

You focus, listening intently. Through the smoke, you catch a faint outline of his figure. You dart forward, aiming for where you think he’ll be. Your fist meets air, but then you feel a presence behind you. You spin around, just in time to block a strike aimed at your back. The two of you exchange blows in the smoke, each trying to gain the upper hand. “Getting tired?” he mocks, his breath hot against your ear as he tries to grapple you. “Hardly,” you reply, your tone icy and controlled.

You twist out of his grasp, elbowing him in the ribs and then landing a punch to his side. He grunts, but you can tell he’s still smirking under that mask. You can almost feel his amusement, his enjoyment of the challenge you present.

As the smoke begins to dissipate, you both emerge from the cloud, circling each other once more. You see a flicker of calculation in his eyes, and you know he’s planning his next move. You brace yourself, ready for whatever trick he has up his sleeve. He lunges again, but this time you’re prepared. You catch his arm, twisting it behind his back and kicking his legs out from under him. He falls to the ground, but he rolls quickly, springing back to his feet with an agility that impresses you despite yourself.

“Seems your little organization knew what they were doing when they decided to send you to catch me,” he says, genuinely this time, his voice breathless but still edged with that mocking tone. “A pity that you won’t be able to succeed, though.”

He reaches for another device, but you’re quicker. You knock it out of his hand, sending it skittering across the floor. He curses under his breath, and for a moment, his playful demeanor drops, replaced by something more serious, more dangerous. The two of you lock eyes, and you can see the challenge in his gaze, the unspoken promise that this isn’t over. He makes a feint to the left, and you move to block, but he spins to the right, his hand darting out to grab the painting. Just as he snatches it, you react, sending a high-tech bullet from your suit, aiming to disable him. But he catches it mid-air, his reflexes astonishing.

“See ya.”

He gives you a quick, mocking salute before disappearing into the shadows, leaving you standing there, hands balled into fists as you seethe with anger.

Just then, you hear footsteps from a fair distance. Quick on your feet, you scale the walls and slip through a shortcut exit just before the security guards catch up. You leap off from the mansion, using your grapnel to swing between buildings. The cityscape blurs around you as you deftly maneuver, finally settling on a rooftop to update the organization.

You tap your in-ear monitor, and it beeps twice, signaling it's ready to record the voice mail. “Agent Sylvil reporting. The Crimson Fox has secured the Midnight Watch and managed to evade capture. His skills are exceptional. I recommend arranging a meeting with the director board to discuss further strategies. Director Han’s assessment was accurate; this mission requires precise and advanced handling.”

Finishing the recording, you send the message. Then, you sit on the rooftop, reflecting on the night’s events. It’s your first encounter with the Crimson Fox, but given his swift escape, you know it definitely won’t be the last. His movements were fluid, his tactics ingenious, and his demeanor… he was infuriatingly confident. As much as his arrogance grated on your nerves, you can’t deny the spark of excitement it ignited. It’s rare to find an adversary who truly challenges you, and the Crimson Fox did just that. His mocking words and playful manner suggested he barely saw you as a threat, which both angered and intrigued you.

You replay the fight in your mind, analyzing each move, each counter. His agility, his quick thinking, his ability to catch your high-tech bullet mid-air—he was indeed a formidable opponent. The thrill of the chase, the adrenaline of the fight, it all reminded you why you chose this life. For all its dangers and secrets, it was moments like these that made it worth it. The cold evening air settles around you, the city below buzzing with life unaware of the silent battles fought above. You take a deep breath, centering yourself. The next encounter with the Crimson Fox will be different. Now that you’ve experienced his capabilities firsthand, you’re more determined than ever to capture him.

The moon casts a silver glow on the rooftop as you stand, your silhouette blending with the night. You glance at the cityscape, your mind already planning the next steps. The mission has just begun, and you’re ready for the challenge. With a final look at the city, you engage your grapnel and swing into the night on your way back to the headquarters, your thoughts focused on the elusive thief and the thrill of the hunt.

Soon enough, you find yourself standing in front of the director board. The room is dimly lit, with a long mahogany table at the center. Holographic screens line the walls, displaying various data points and live feeds from different missions around the globe. You take a deep breath, readying yourself for the detailed debriefing. “Good evening,” you begin, your voice calm and composed. “Thank you for convening on such short notice and understanding the urgency of the matter at hand.”

Director Han nods, her eyes fixed on you. “Agent Sylvil, please proceed with your report.”

You activate the holographic projector in the center of the table, which springs to life with a 3D representation of the museum. “As per the mission parameters, I infiltrated the museum housing The Midnight Watch. The Crimson Fox, as predicted, made an appearance.”

The directors listen with utmost attention, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern. “What were his methods?” Director Kang asks, his brow furrowed.

“Impressive,” you admit. “He bypassed the security lasers with an ease that suggests extensive training. His movements were calculated, almost as if he anticipated every countermeasure in place.” You replay a section of the surveillance footage, highlighting the Crimson Fox’s agility and precision as he evades the laser beams.

Director Liu interjects, “What can you tell us about his physical capabilities?”

“Exceptional reflexes and strength,” you reply. “During our confrontation, he caught a high-tech bullet I fired at him mid-air, and he moved with a speed that matched my own. We engaged in close combat, where his skills were evident.”

You take a deep breath, ready to recount the encounter with precision. “The fight was intense, a true test of both our abilities. It began with me tackling him down on the ground, but he was quick on his feet to slip out of my grasp.”

The directors lean in, listening intently. “He anticipated my next move, sidestepping just in time to avoid a follow-up strike. His agility is remarkable. As I pivoted to face him, he used a spinning kick aimed at my head, but I ducked and swept his legs out from under him. He hit the ground, but he recovered almost instantly, rolling away and springing back to his feet.”

You pause, replaying the vivid memories in your mind. “We exchanged a series of blows—punches, kicks, blocks, you name it. Each move was met with a counter. His fighting style is unconventional, incorporating elements of various martial arts, which made it difficult to predict. He doesn’t adhere to a single discipline, which kept me on my toes.”

Director Han nods, gesturing for you to continue. “What about his defensive maneuvers?” she pushes further while spinning a pen in her hand, trying to ground the feeling of being on edge consuming her.

“He’s incredibly adaptive,” you explain. “When I attempted a grappling technique, aiming to subdue him, he twisted his body with an almost serpentine flexibility, breaking free from my hold. He then countered with a palm strike to my sternum, knocking me back a few steps. His strikes were precise, targeting vulnerable points with pinpoint accuracy.”

Director Kang interjects, “And how did you manage to gain the upper hand?”

“I capitalized on his momentary lapse in focus,” you reply. “After a particularly aggressive exchange, he hesitated for a fraction of a second—perhaps assessing his next move. I seized that moment to deliver a powerful roundhouse kick to his side, sending him staggering. He stumbled, clearly winded, and that’s when I thought I had him.”

You pause, the memory still fresh. “But he’s resourceful. Before I could press my advantage, he reached into his belt and pulled out a small device—a smoke bomb. He threw it to the ground, and within seconds, a thick cloud of smoke enveloped us. I tried to locate him, but the visibility was almost zero.”

The directors furrow their brows as you continue. “The fight continued within the smoke. I could barely see him, but I could hear his movements. He used the smoke to his advantage, striking from unexpected angles. I had to rely on my other senses, listening for the slightest sound, feeling the air shift with his movements.”

You lean forward, emphasizing the intensity of the moment. “He came at me from the side, delivering a quick succession of punches. I managed to block most of them, but one caught my shoulder, pushing me back. I retaliated with a low sweep, hoping to trip him, but he jumped over my leg and countered with a kick aimed at my head.”

Director Liu looks concerned. “And you were fighting blind?”

“Essentially, yes,” you confirm. “But so was he, to some extent. It became a test of reflexes and instincts. I landed a solid hit to his midsection, forcing him to stumble back, but he quickly recovered. He moved with an eerie precision, almost as if he could see through the smoke.”

“At one point, I managed to land another solid strike, knocking him off balance. He was momentarily disoriented, and I moved in to finish it. But he was one step ahead of me, and so he escaped by disappearing into the shadows before I could initiate my next move,” you conclude.

Director Kang speaks up, “His use of the smoke bomb indicates he was prepared for a prolonged fight. This suggests he knew he might encounter resistance and planned accordingly.”

“Indeed,” you agree. “His preparation and adaptability make him a formidable opponent. He’s not just skilled in combat but also in tactical evasion. This was not a random act of theft—he’s calculated and strategic in his approach.”

Director Han taps her fingers on the table thoughtfully. “What about his demeanor? Any psychological insights?”

You pause, recalling the encounter. “Mocking and confident. He seems to enjoy the thrill of the chase, using sarcasm and taunts to unnerve his opponents. He referred to our skills as ‘not good enough’ and even threw a decoy object to distract me while he made his escape.”

Director Kang leans back in his chair, contemplating. “So, he’s not just skilled but also psychologically manipulative. This makes him a more dangerous adversary.”

“Agreed,” you nod. “He managed to secure The Midnight Watch and evade capture. His confidence suggests he has faced numerous challenges and emerged victorious.”

Director Liu turns to you, her expression serious. “Agent Sylvil, how do you propose we proceed?”

You take a deep breath. “Given his capabilities, we need a multi-faceted approach. Increased surveillance on potential targets, advanced countermeasures tailored to his techniques, and psychological profiling to predict his next move. Additionally, I recommend setting traps designed specifically to counter his known strategies.”

The directors nod, absorbing your suggestions. Director Han speaks up, “We’ll allocate additional resources to this mission. It’s clear that the Crimson Fox is not an ordinary thief.”

Director Kang adds, “We should also consider the possibility of a mole within our ranks. His knowledge of the museum’s security was too precise to be a coincidence.”

The meeting continues, with each director contributing their insights and strategies. They discuss deploying additional agents, enhancing technological defenses, and setting up surveillance in key locations. The holographic screens flicker with data as plans are formulated.

After an extensive discussion, Director Han turns to you. “Agent Sylvil, this mission is now your top priority. We trust your expertise and judgment to bring the Crimson Fox to justice.”

You straighten your posture, a sense of determination filling you. “Understood. I will not let him slip through our fingers again.”

With that, the meeting adjourns. The directors disperse, leaving you to finalize the details of the new strategies. You take a moment to gather your thoughts, the weight of the mission settling on your shoulders. As you leave the meeting room, you take a moment to gather your thoughts before deciding to head to the tech experts’ department, mind already racing with plans and the need for advanced equipment to catch the elusive Crimson Fox. Once you arrive at a secure door, you swipe your ID card, and the door slides open with a soft hiss, revealing the hub of innovation where the brightest minds in the organization work tirelessly.

Inside, the atmosphere is one of focused intensity. Technicians and engineers huddle over holographic interfaces, 3D printers whirr as they produce prototype components, and large screens display streams of data from ongoing missions. You spot Dr. Yoo, the head of the tech department, a sharp-eyed woman with a mind as quick as her hands. “Agent Sylvil,” Dr. Yoo greets you with a nod, her eyes scanning your face for any sign of the urgency you must feel. “What brings you here?”

“Dr. Yoo,” you begin, “I need your team’s help. The Crimson Fox is unlike any adversary we’ve faced. His skills are exceptional, and our current surveillance capabilities aren’t enough. I need enhancements in surveillance tech, innovative traps, and some upgrades to my suit and weaponry.”

Dr. Yoo’s eyes gleam with interest. “Ah, yes. Director Han had informed me of your mission beforehand. Surveillance enhancements, you say? We can certainly help with that.” She leads you to a workstation where several screens display live feeds from various parts of the city. “We’ve been developing a new type of drone—silent, virtually invisible to the naked eye, and equipped with AI-driven tracking algorithms. These drones can patrol a set perimeter, identify unusual patterns, and follow targets without being detected.”

She types a few commands, and a small, sleek drone materializes on a platform beside her. “We call it the ‘Ghost Falcon.’ It can relay real-time data back to your wrist device, providing you with constant updates on the target’s location and movements.”

“Next, for trapping mechanisms,” Dr. Yoo continues, walking over to another section of the lab, “we've been working on deployable traps that can be used in urban environments. These include smart tripwires that can be set up quickly and remotely activated, and adhesive gel bombs that can immobilize a target upon contact.”

She gestures to a table where various gadgets are laid out. “These are our latest models. The tripwires are nearly invisible and can send an alert to your wrist device when triggered. The adhesive gel bombs can be thrown or launched from a distance, endangering anyone within its range.”

“Now, let’s talk about your suit.” Dr. Yoo pulls up a holographic model of your current suit, spinning it in the air with a swipe. “I propose we upgrade your suit with enhanced plating—lightweight but incredibly strong, along with new functions.”

She points to the wrist section of the hologram. “We’ll also integrate advanced tech into your gloves. These can now emit an electromagnetic pulse to disable electronic devices temporarily, which could come in handy if the Crimson Fox uses tech against you.”

“And for weaponry,” Dr. Yoo says, moving to a locked cabinet, “we have some new additions. Here’s a high-frequency stun baton, designed to incapacitate without permanent damage. It has an extendable reach, allowing you to engage from a safe distance.”

She unlocks the cabinet, revealing a sleek, compact crossbow. “This is a micro-crossbow, firing tranquilizer darts with pinpoint accuracy. It’s silent and effective, perfect for stealth operations.”

You straighten yourself, feeling a renewed sense of readiness. “Thank you, Dr. Yoo. These upgrades will make a significant difference.”

Dr. Yoo nods, her expression serious. “We’re all counting on you, Agent Sylvil. Catching the Crimson Fox is crucial.”

After finalizing your discussions with the tech experts, you make your way to the elevator. The high-tech suit clings to your form, feeling like a second skin. As you descend, you press a sequence of buttons on your wristwatch. The suit begins to morph, retracting seamlessly into the wristwatch. The material shifts and transforms, layer by layer, until it becomes the familiar fabric of your pencil skirt and white dress shirt. By the time the elevator doors open to the surface, you appear as the diligent librarian once more, ready to blend into the mundane world outside. The cold evening air greets you, a stark contrast to the high-tech environment you just left. You draw a deep breath, allowing the exhaustion to surface as you make your way home.

The walk home feels interminable. Each step is heavy, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on you. Your muscles protest, a dull ache from the intense physical exertion of your encounter with the Crimson Fox. Your mind races with thoughts of strategies and the upgrades to your equipment. Streetlights cast long shadows, and the city’s hum is a distant background noise as you finally reach your apartment building. The familiar sight brings a small sense of relief, a sanctuary from the day’s demands.

As soon as you step inside your apartment, the weight of the day seems to lift slightly. You drop your bag from your shoulder, the thud it makes as it hits the floor symbolizing the shedding of your burdens. You pick it back up and hang it on the rack by the door, a habit that brings a sense of order to the chaos of your life. Slipping off your heels, you place them neatly on the shoe rack, taking a moment to appreciate the simple comfort of being barefoot.

You move through your apartment, each step bringing you closer to the sanctuary of your room. The familiar surroundings offer a sense of comfort. Your room is a haven, a place where you can let down your guard. You take off your glasses, placing them carefully on your bedside table. The act of changing into comfortable clothes feels like removing a layer of tension. In the bathroom, you splash cool water on your face, the sensation refreshing and grounding. Finally, you collapse onto your bed, sinking into the mattress with a deep sigh, the weight of the day slipping away.

Lying on your bed, you stare at the ceiling, your mind replaying the events of the day in vivid detail. The meeting with the directors, each face etched with concern and determination, lingers at the forefront of your thoughts. The weight of their expectations had been palpable, each word and directive underscoring the gravity of the mission. Director Han’s gaze and the gravity in her tone emphasized the importance of capturing the Crimson Fox. As you recalled your encounter, the room had been silent, each director hanging on your every word. The fight had been more than a mere physical confrontation; it was a battle of wits, a dance of strategy and skill.

The discussions with the tech department replay in your mind as well. Their enthusiasm and expertise were evident as they explained the new modifications and enhancements they would integrate into your suit. Each upgrade was meticulously designed, aimed at giving you the edge needed to outmaneuver the Crimson Fox. The advanced surveillance systems, the innovative traps, and the weapon enhancements—all crafted to ensure your success. You could still hear the excitement in their voices, their confidence in their technology bolstering your resolve. They believed in you, and that belief was a powerful motivator.

But most of all, the encounter with the Crimson Fox dominates your thoughts. Every detail is etched into your memory: the way he moved, the confidence in his stride, the playful yet calculating glint in his eyes. His skills were astonishing, each move calculated and precise, as if he had been doing this for years. Yet he was a new thief on the scene, his methods untraceable, his origins unknown. His confidence, his playful demeanor—it was unnerving and intriguing. He had treated the confrontation like a game, his taunts laced with mockery and challenge. It was almost as if he knew he was untouchable, as if he thrived on the thrill of the chase.

You find yourself replaying the fight in your mind, analyzing each move, each tactic. His agility, his quick reflexes, the way he anticipated your actions—it all points to extensive training and experience. But where did he come from? How did he develop such skills? The mystery of his identity gnaws at you, a puzzle that refuses to be solved. You can still feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the intensity of the fight, the close calls, and the moment when he slipped through your grasp.

Who was he? The question echoes in your mind, refusing to be silenced. Capturing him is no longer just about completing your mission or earning a promotion. It’s about understanding him, uncovering the mystery behind the mask. Each taunt, each move he made seemed to be a clue, a piece of a larger puzzle. You realize that this chase is only the beginning of a much larger game, a game that you are determined to win. His motives remain unclear. Why target “The Midnight Watch”? The painting, while appearing to be valuable, seemed an unusual choice for such a high-profile thief.

His confidence, his playful demeanor—there was something almost familiar about it, a nagging sensation at the back of your mind. It was as if you had encountered this kind of adversary before, someone who enjoyed the thrill of the game as much as the spoils. Yet, despite his confidence and skill, he had shown respect in his own way, acknowledging your abilities, even if through taunts and challenges. It was a strange dynamic, one that you couldn’t quite place. Was he testing you? Pushing you to see how far you could go?

You turn over, closing your eyes after setting an alarm for work tomorrow. Plans and strategies swirl in your mind, interwoven with the enigmatic figure of the Crimson Fox. His skills, his words, his smirk—they all replay in your mind as you drift off to sleep.

—

The blaring sound of your alarm rouses you from sleep, and you groan softly as sunlight filters through the curtains, striking your face. You sit up slowly, yawning and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Glancing at your phone, you see that you still have an hour before the library opens. Determined to start your day right, you stretch and stand, moving to fix your bed, smoothing out the sheets and fluffing the pillows until everything is neatly in place.

Heading to the bathroom, you begin your morning routine. First, you splash cold water on your face, waking yourself up fully. Then, you wash your face with a gentle cleanser, massaging it into your skin before rinsing it off with warm water. After patting your face dry with a soft towel, you apply a refreshing toner, followed by a light moisturizer to keep your skin hydrated. You then hop into the shower, letting the warm water relax your muscles as you lather shampoo into your hair, rinse, and follow with a conditioner. After washing your body with a fragrant body wash, you rinse off and step out, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel.

Once you finish drying off, you brush your teeth thoroughly, ensuring they are clean and fresh. You run a comb through your hair, detangling any knots, and then blow-dry it until it falls into a smooth, manageable style. Returning to your bedroom, you open your closet and run your hand along the rack, considering your options for the day.

You settle on a chic yet professional outfit that perfectly balances style and sophistication. You choose a tailored, knee-length pencil skirt in a deep navy blue, which hugs your figure while maintaining a professional appearance. Paired with it, you opt for a crisp white blouse with subtle ruffle detailing along the neckline and cuffs, adding a touch of femininity and elegance. Over the blouse, you wear a fitted blazer in a matching navy blue, cinched at the waist with a slim belt. The outfit is completed with a pair of sleek black heels, adding a bit of height and polish to your look. Underneath the sleeve of your blazer, you securely fasten your high-tech wristwatch, ensuring it's discreetly hidden but easily accessible.

You sit down at your vanity, turning on the lighted mirror to begin fixing yourself up. Once you’re satisfied with your facial look, you move on to your hair, deciding on a sophisticated yet simple style. After a final check in the mirror, you stand and give yourself one last glance in the full-length mirror, ensuring everything is in place.

Grabbing your bag, you head to the entrance, slipping into your black heels and making sure they are comfortable. You hang your bag over your shoulder and step out, locking the door behind you. The cool morning air greets you as you begin your usual walk to the library. The streets are still quiet, the hustle and bustle of the day yet to begin.

You arrive at the library, pulling up the metal shutter and inserting your keys into the door, the familiar click bringing a small measure of comfort as you step inside. The familiar scent of books and the quiet ambiance welcome you, and you take a deep breath, feeling a sense of calmness as you prepare for the day ahead. You turn on the lights, arrange the new arrivals on the display, and make sure everything is in order before opening the doors to the public. Once you’re finished, you head to the door to flip the sign from “Closed” to “Open,” walking back to the registrar afterwards. You then sit down, ready to immerse yourself in the tasks at hand.

A steady stream of patrons then eventually begin to fill the space, each one on a mission to either borrow new books or return their previous selections. The sound of footsteps, hushed conversations, and the rustling of pages creates a symphony of activity that fills the otherwise quiet room. You find yourself at the center of it all, seated behind the front desk, diligently managing the influx of customers.

Your fingers fly over the keyboard as you enter return dates and update records in the computer system. The scanner beeps rhythmically as you process each book, ensuring every title is properly logged back into the library’s inventory. Every now and then, a patron asks for recommendations or assistance finding a particular book, and you offer them a warm smile and helpful advice. The hours seem to blend together in a blur of transactions and interactions.

The morning passes quickly, the library bustling with activity. You barely have time to notice the growing stack of returned books piling up beside your desk. Just as you reach for another book to scan, a familiar voice breaks through the din, pulling you from your focused trance.

“Hey there.”

You tear your eyes away from the computer screen and manage a small smile upon recognizing the speaker. “Oh, hey, Wooyoung.” His presence is a welcome distraction, and you notice the book he places on the counter—“The History of Art,” the same one he borrowed before.

“Finished reading it already? You’re pretty fast,” you muse, engaging in small talk as you take the book and begin the process of returning it to the system. You scan the barcode, ensuring the book is properly checked back in and available for other patrons.

“Yep. Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Wooyoung replies, leaning casually against the counter, pulling down the sleeves of his hoodie slightly—why does he always choose to wear such items of clothing despite the blazing weather?

You chuckle softly. “This book must have been really useful for you, huh?” You glance at the computer screen as the system confirms the book’s return, then move to type in some additional notes.

For a moment, there’s a comfortable silence between you, filled only by the clicking of your keyboard. You can feel Wooyoung’s gaze on you, and although it’s not directly in your line of sight, his attention is palpable. Keeping your eyes on the computer, you address the unspoken question. “Is something the matter?”

“Oh, uh,” he clears his throat, seeming slightly flustered. “I just... you look pretty tired?”

Your eyebrows lift in surprise at his comment, and you tilt your head curiously. “Do I?” You open the desk drawer and pull out a small hand mirror, angling it to inspect your reflection. Indeed, there are faint dark circles under your eyes, subtle but noticeable upon closer inspection. “Huh.”

Wooyoung shifts slightly, his concern genuine despite his earlier teasing tone. “Yeah, just a bit. Rough night?”

You nod slightly, placing the mirror back in the drawer. “You could say that. Just some work stuff keeping me up.”

He offers a sympathetic smile. “Well, don’t push yourself too hard. You need rest too, you know.”

You smile back, appreciating his concern. “Thanks, Wooyoung. I’ll try to take it easy.”

As the conversation lulls, you finish updating the system with the returned book and place it on the cart to be reshelved later. Wooyoung lingers for a moment longer, seemingly hesitant to leave.

“So, are you borrowing anything new today?” you ask, shifting the topic back to the library’s purpose.

He seems to snap out of his thoughts and grins. “Actually, yes. I was thinking of diving into something different this time. Any recommendations?”

You stand, gesturing for him to follow you. “Sure, let’s see what we can find.” As you walk through the aisles, you turn to Wooyoung, genuinely curious about his reading preferences. He’s busy looking around, so when he fails to notice you stopping in your tracks, his chest bumps into your shoulder blades, and he hisses lightly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you okay?” Your eyebrows shoot up in concern, and just as you’re about to hold your hand forward to touch his chest, you quickly retract it, realizing you might make him uncomfortable. It seems as if you’re both on the same page, as he immediately took a step back.

“Don’t mind it,” he waves you off. “Were you gonna ask me something?” he inquires, hoping to steer away from what just happened. Thankfully, you had the same intention as well, so you go along with his flow.

“I was gonna ask if there’s any topic or genre you’re particularly interested in lately?” You tilt your head as you wait for his answer, eager to find the perfect recommendations for him.

Wooyoung scratches his chin thoughtfully. “Actually, I’ve been fascinated by the history of rare and valuable artifacts recently. Especially those from ancient civilizations.”

You raise an eyebrow in surprise. It’s a rather specific and intriguing interest. “Oh, great choice. I’ve got a few recommendations for that.” You smile, leading him toward the section dedicated to ancient artifacts and their histories.

You proceed to guide Wooyoung through the aisle dedicated to ancient artifacts, pulling out a book titled “Lost Treasures of the Ancient World” and handing it to him. “This one covers a variety of artifacts from different civilizations, including their historical significance and the stories behind their discoveries,” you explain, flipping through the pages to show him illustrations of ancient relics.

Wooyoung’s eyes light up with interest as he examines the pages. “Wow, look at this!” he whisper-shouts, pointing to a detailed map of archaeological sites. “I didn’t realize there were so many different ancient civilizations with their own treasures.”

You nod, smiling. “This book also discusses how these treasures were unearthed and the challenges faced by archaeologists.”

“That must be an adventure in itself,” Wooyoung remarks with a grin. “Imagine digging up an ancient tomb and finding treasures untouched for thousands of years.”

You proceed to pull out another book from the shelves, titled “The Secrets of Ancient Egypt: From Pharaohs to Treasure Hunters.” You lend him the book, explaining its coverage soon after. “This delves into the world of Egyptian artifacts, their mystical significance, and the pharaohs who were entombed with them.”

Wooyoung’s gaze is fixed on a page depicting hieroglyphics. “Egyptian mythology sure is fascinating,” he muses, tracing the symbols with his finger. “It’s like a window into a world where gods and mortals coexisted.”

You smile, enjoying his enthusiasm. “I can’t say I don’t agree. The mysteries of the pyramids and the rituals surrounding mummification are endlessly captivating.”

As you reach for “The Tools of the Ancients: Craftsmanship and Innovation,” you explain, “This book explores the tools and techniques used by ancient civilizations to create these masterpieces.” You show him illustrations of ancient tools and artifacts, discussing their ingenious designs.

Wooyoung’s curiosity is piqued. “You know, things like this always makes me wonder how they achieved such precision without modern technology,” he muses, examining the diagrams closely. “Their craftsmanship was truly ahead of its time.”

As you discuss each book, you can’t help but notice how animated Wooyoung becomes. His genuine curiosity and passion for ancient history are evident in his questions and comments, and you find yourself enjoying the conversation as much as he does.

“Have you always been interested in ancient artifacts?” You turn to him, genuinely curious about his newfound passion.

He smiles, setting down the last book. “Not always,” he admits with a chuckle. “But recently, I’ve found myself drawn to the stories behind these artifacts. They’re like puzzle pieces that unlock secrets from the past.”

You nod in agreement. “It’s incredible how each artifact has its own story to tell, connecting us to our ancestors and their way of life. It’s like uncovering hidden secrets from a forgotten world.”

The moment lingers, a shared understanding passing between you as you find yourself staring into his eyes perhaps a little longer than you’re supposed to. But then you blink, breaking the spell, and turn back to the books. “Well, I think you’re all set with these,” you say warmly, gesturing to the stack he’s accumulated. “I hope you find them as fascinating as I do.”

“I’m sure I will,” he replies sincerely. “Thanks again for your help. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you say, smiling warmly. “Let me know if you need anything else,” you tell him, and he gives you a nod before heading towards the checkout desk with his books, soon then leaving the library.

Returning to the registrar desk, you settle back into your routine. You begin by sorting through the stack of returned books, scanning each one into the computer system to update their status. You take a moment to check the condition of each book, making sure none of them need repairs or special attention before placing them on the cart for reshelving. Next, you turn your attention to the online catalog, processing requests from patrons who have reserved books. You locate the requested items on the shelves behind the desk, scan them out, and prepare them for pickup. Each step requires careful attention to detail, ensuring that every book is accounted for and properly logged in the system.

While you’re engrossed in your work, your invisible in-ear monitor suddenly beeps softly, indicating a new voicemail. Dr. Yoo’s voice then comes through clearly, though only you can hear it. “Agent Sylvil, the tech team has successfully infiltrated the security cameras around the city. We’re now gathering all available footage of the Crimson Fox. I’ll update you with any significant findings as soon as we have them. Stay alert and be ready to move at a moment’s notice.”

When the message finishes, you find yourself lost in thought, momentarily blanking out while keeping your eyes on your computer’s screen. The usual hum of the library fades into the background as you process Dr. Yoo’s update. You look outside the door, met with the sight of the city, and begin wondering if the security camera footage will be of any help. The Crimson Fox’s elusive nature and your recent encounter with him make you skeptical. Given how vigilant he was, it's safe to assume he’s smart enough to avoid being caught on security cameras. But still, you hope for the best-case scenario while also calculating the worst.

You let out a quiet sigh. The city is a vast web of streets and buildings, each with its own secrets. If the tech team can pinpoint his movements, it could provide the breakthrough you need. But the Crimson Fox is no ordinary thief; his agility and skills make him a formidable opponent. He’s proven to be a master of evasion, and underestimating him would be a mistake.

You then redirect your attention to your duties. You start by organizing the returned books, scanning each one into the system. The rhythmic beep of the scanner helps ground you in the present. Each book, once scanned, is carefully examined for any damage before being placed on a cart for reshelving.

Your mind continues to race with thoughts of the Crimson Fox as you process the books. You can’t help but wonder about his next move. What artifact will he target next? What’s his endgame? These questions swirl in your mind, adding a layer of intrigue to your day. As you print out a list of overdue books, your thoughts are interrupted by the arrival of a young student at the desk. He looks nervous, clutching a piece of paper. “Excuse me, can you help me find this book for my project?” he asks, nervously fiddling with the paper in his hands.

“Of course,” you reply with a warm smile, taking the paper from him. “Let’s see what you need.” The request momentarily distracts you from your thoughts about the Crimson Fox, and you guide the student to the appropriate section, helping him locate the reference book he needs.

Returning to the desk, you draft reminder emails for patrons with overdue books. Each email is crafted with care, politely reminding them to return their borrowed items and offering assistance if they need to renew their loans. You take a moment to analyze the circulation statistics, noting which genres are most popular this month and which sections might need restocking.

You take a brief moment to stretch and sip some water. As you glance around the library, you feel a sense of pride in maintaining this peaceful, orderly environment. However, the tech team's success in accessing the city’s security cameras keeps your thoughts anchored to your mission. The possibility of tracking the Crimson Fox through the footage gives you hope, despite the challenges.

Refreshed from your quick break, you dive back into your duties. You stand up from your chair, leaving the counter and taking the cart with you as you begin reshelving the books. You start with the fiction section, carefully placing each book back in its designated spot, making sure the spines are perfectly aligned. You run your fingers along the shelves, ensuring no books are out of order. Moving on to non-fiction, you double-check the Dewey Decimal System numbers, adjusting any misplaced titles. Each book finds its home, from biographies to history volumes.

You take your time with the children’s section, making sure the colorful picture books are easily accessible for little hands. You arrange them neatly, occasionally straightening the whimsical displays. The library feels like an extension of yourself, every detail meticulously managed. Once you finished, you head back to the registrar, resuming your work. The steady rhythm of scanning and processing books returns. Patrons come and go, each interaction brief but pleasant. You answer questions, provide recommendations, and handle transactions with practiced ease.

The day passes by like a blur, and now it’s time for you to close the library. You shut down your computer, standing up and leaving the counter. Thankfully, there are no longer any people around, so you are free to clean and close up the library without worrying about offending anyone by announcing closing hours. You start tidying up the tables, collecting stray books and magazines left behind. You wipe down surfaces, ensuring everything is spotless. Chairs are pushed back under tables, and scattered newspapers are neatly stacked. You walk through the aisles one last time, straightening books and making sure everything is in order.

When you’re done, you head back to the reception desk, taking your bag and pulling out the keys. You step outside, locking the door and pulling down the metal shutter, securing the library for the night. With the library closed, you head to the headquarters, needing to talk to Dr. Yoo for updates regarding the city’s surveillance cameras and any footage of the Crimson Fox. The walk to the headquarters is brisk, your mind focused on the mission ahead.

Once you arrive, you go straight to the tech lab. Dr. Yoo notices your presence immediately and makes her way to you. “Agent Sylvil,” she greets you with a nod.

“Dr. Yoo,” you respond. “Any updates on the surveillance cameras?”

“Follow me,” she says, leading you to the surveillance monitoring room. The walls are lined with multiple screens, each displaying footage from various cameras across the city.

She points to one of the screens. “Unfortunately, he was only caught on this camera, and it was just for a millisecond.” You lean in closer, studying the footage. The image is fleeting, barely a blur of movement. “Impressive,” you murmur, noting how he managed to evade capture on almost every camera.

Dr. Yoo nods. “We did, however, identify a pattern. The footage indicates he’s frequenting an area known for housing valuable artifacts. We’re cross-referencing his movements with known high-value targets in the vicinity.”

You consider this information, thinking back to his skill and precision during your last encounter. “Good work,” you say. “Let’s focus on that area. Enhance surveillance and see if we can predict his next move.”

Dr. Yoo agrees, already making notes. “We’ll get on it right away. I’ll keep you updated with any new developments.”

As you head home, your mind keeps circling back to the surveillance footage. Dr. Yoo had advised patience, emphasizing the importance of gathering more intel before making a move. But the idea of waiting gnaws at you. The thrill of a direct confrontation, the challenge of outsmarting the Crimson Fox, calls to you with an irresistible pull.

Walking down the path to where you live, you make a snap decision. Doing a full 180, you tap your wristwatch, feeling the familiar hum as your attire shifts into your high-tech suit. Your pencil skirt and blouse are replaced by sleek, reinforced material designed for agility and protection. Without hesitation, you break into a run, heading towards the location where the Crimson Fox was last seen. Your gut tells you that he’s there, and you trust your instincts.

Arriving at the vicinity, you find the area shrouded in darkness. The moon provides the only light, casting an eerie glow on the deserted streets. The blackout could be a coincidence, but you know better. The Crimson Fox is meticulous. This power outage is likely part of his plan to operate undetected.

You proceed cautiously, every sense on high alert. Suddenly, you detect a slight motion behind you. Your training kicks in, and you react swiftly. Spinning around, you catch sight of him just as he reaches out to strike. You grab his hand, using his momentum to flip him over and slam him onto the ground. Your knees pin his arms, your hands securing his neck.

A strained laugh escapes him. “Didn’t think I’d see you again so soon. Missed me?” His voice is mocking, yet there’s a hint of admiration beneath the bravado.

“Does it ever dawn to you how infuriating you are?” you reply, tightening your grip on his neck. “And to answer your question, not particularly—but I do intend to make sure I’m the last thing you’ll remember before you get knocked out.”

His eyes gleam with amusement even as he struggles to breathe. “Confident, aren’t you? Let’s see if you can back it up.”

He reaches for a rock nearby, aiming to strike your head. You react instantly, intercepting his hand and preventing the blow. Using the distraction, he shifts his weight, pushing you off balance. You roll to the side, springing to your feet with practiced ease. He’s up as well, a sly smile on his lips as he brushes himself off.

“You’re quick, I’ll give you that,” he says, circling you warily.

“And you’re annoyingly persistent,” you retort, matching his movements.

He shrugs nonchalantly. “It’s a gift.”

The tension between you is palpable, each of you waiting for the other to make a move. He lunges first, aiming a high kick at your head. You duck and counter with a swift punch to his ribs. He twists away, his foot lashing out to sweep your legs. You jump, landing a kick to his shoulder that sends him staggering back.

“Is that all you can give me, Agent?” he taunts, recovering quickly.

“It wouldn’t be, had you been given a dead or alive bounty hanging over your head,” you reply, your tone ice-cold. You launch into a series of rapid strikes, each one aimed with precision. He blocks most, but you manage to land a few solid hits.

“I think you just don’t want to hurt me,” he whispers in your ear from behind, attempting to strangle you, but you’re quicker than the speed of light to duck down and sweep him off his feet.

“Don’t flatter yourself. I’d gladly leave nothing of you but your blood on the floor if you weren’t so important.” You take a step back, an eye twitching over that stupid confident look in his eyes you could see through his mask. The two of you continue to move in a deadly dance, each anticipating the other’s moves with uncanny accuracy.

“You know, you’re making this more fun than I expected,” he admits, dodging a particularly vicious punch.

“Do you ever stop talking? I’m not here for your entertainment,” you snap, delivering a powerful kick that he barely deflects.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he says, grinning. The fight intensifies, each of you pushing your limits. The Crimson Fox’s strikes are swift and calculated, but you match his every move with precision and strength. In the midst of the clash, he chuckles, his breath coming in short bursts.

“I wasn’t expecting you to strike so soon, honestly,” he admits, dodging a high kick aimed at his head. “Aren’t agents like you supposed to prioritize patience and analysis over rash actions?”

You block his punch and counter with a swift jab to his ribs, your expression stoic. “You don’t know anything about me.”

He laughs, sidestepping your next attack. “A bit touchy, aren’t we? Don’t you think that attitude is a bit unethical for a top secret agent—”

You cut him off with a solid punch to his jaw, the force of the blow snapping his head to the side, and you hear the sound of blood dripping down the ground. You don’t give him a moment to recover, immediately gripping the collar of his suit to bring him close to you. “Project your stereotypes onto me one more time and I’ll knock your teeth so far down your throat you’ll be flossing with your intestines.”

He shakes his head, a wry smile forming on his lips as he straightens up and pushes you off of him. “You’re something else, aren’t you?”

You don’t respond, focusing instead on your next move. He feints to the left, and you’re ready, delivering a kick that he barely dodges. He’s finding you more than just a worthy adversary; he’s genuinely intrigued.

“Most people would be intimidated by now,” he remarks, catching your leg and twisting, trying to throw you off balance.

You roll with the motion, using it to your advantage as you flip back to your feet. “Most people aren’t me.”

He chuckles, clearly amused. “Yeah?”

The two of you continue your fierce exchange, the night air filled with the sounds of your combat. He’s fast, but you’re faster, your movements fluid and precise. Despite his mocking demeanor, you can see the respect growing in his eyes. The fight between you and the Crimson Fox continues with an intensity that fills the darkened area. You push yourself to dominate, leveraging every skill you’ve honed over the years. He matches you move for move, but you sense a shift—he’s beginning to tire, and you’re gaining the upper hand.

You catch him off guard by grabbing his wrist and twisting it before forcing him to the ground, his amusement only fueling your resolve. With practiced precision, you pin him down, his hands restrained beneath your knee. As you draw a dagger from your suit's concealed pocket, you pull his head back by his hair, and he tilts his head behind with all his strength to look into your eyes.

“You think you’ve got me pinned, don’t you?” he grunts, his voice tinged with a mixture of defiance and frustration. “But this game isn’t over until I say it is.”

“You’re not calling the shots here. I am,” you reply, your voice a steely whisper. The sight of blood seeping from beneath his mask and dripping onto the ground doesn’t faze you.

“You’re just as relentless as they say, aren’t you? Always chasing, never stopping to think,” he continues, trying to get under your skin.

“Save your breath,” you say, pressing down harder. “You’ll need it for when you’re behind bars.”

Just then, the power returns, flooding the area with light. The sudden brightness reveals the surroundings, and you both feel the shift. The Crimson Fox tenses beneath you, his surprise evident. It’s clear he didn’t see this coming, either. Realizing the cameras could be operational and your cover could be blown, you act quickly. You release him and leap to your feet, and he does the same.

“This isn’t over,” you state, your voice low and stoic, eyes filled with a fiery gaze.

He chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Sure hope it isn’t.” With that, he melds into the shadows, disappearing down a different route.

You waste no time in escaping the now well-lit area, aware of the surveillance cameras and the implications of being seen. These cameras are not just ordinary security measures; they are infiltrated by your organization, and it wouldn’t be a bad thing in different circumstances, but the catch is that you’re not supposed to be going off to do your duties without informing the director board beforehand. If they catch wind of this unsanctioned operation, there would be serious repercussions.

As you make your way back, your thoughts churn. The Crimson Fox might be right—this was a rash decision. You acted on instinct, driven by the desire to catch him before he could commit another theft. But it’s definitely not a regrettable one. You learned a lot from this encounter: his fighting style, his resilience, and most importantly, that even he can be taken by surprise.

—

You wake up at dawn, the room still shrouded in darkness. A persistent beeping pulls you from sleep. Groggily, you reach for your phone, thinking you set your work alarm too early. It takes a moment before you realize the sound is not coming from your phone but from your wristwatch. You tap it, and a holographic screen flickers to life, displaying Director Han. Her expression is anything but pleasant. She looks mad, even.

“Agent,” she says curtly, “report to headquarters immediately. There are important matters we need to discuss.” Your stomach drops.

They know about last night.

You get up from your bed, a mix of dread and defiance coursing through you. You acted without orders, but you gained valuable information and prevented a theft. Surely, that counts for something.

With a sigh, you begin your morning routine far earlier than intended. You wash your face, take a shower, brush your teeth, and change into your professional attire. For today, you chose to wear a crimson red dress shirt along with a knee-length black pencil skirt, pairing it with black stockings and heels of the same color. Once you’re fully prepared, you make your way to headquarters, the early morning chill biting at your skin.

Upon arrival, a fellow agent greets you, informing you that the director board is waiting in the meeting room. The director board? You expected only Director Han. This is bigger than you thought.

You enter the room, and the atmosphere is tense. The directors look unhappy, their eyes fixed on you. Clearing your throat, you decide to cut straight to the point. “What’s the matter?”

Director Kang taps a button at the center of the table, projecting a holographic screen that shows a millisecond of footage—of you, running away, caught by the surveillance camera where you fought the Crimson Fox.

“What’s this?” Director Kang asks, though his tone implies he already knows the answer.

“It’s exactly what it looks like,” you reply, crossing your arms.

Director Liu joins in, her voice cold. “Do you not understand the gravity of your actions? What you did was a blatant violation of protocol. I believe you aren’t aware of the gravity of your actions.”

You suppress a groan. Seriously?

“Then enlighten me, Director,” you deadpan, maintaining a stoic facade despite your sarcasm.

Director Kang leans forward, steepling his fingers. “Our handbook clearly states in Section 4, Paragraph 12, that ‘agents must obtain explicit authorization from a superior before engaging in field operations.’ You acted independently, without orders.”

Director Liu chimes in, “This isn’t just a minor infraction. It’s a severe breach of our protocol. You compromised the integrity of our operations.”

Director Han adds, “Following the chain of command ensures that all actions are coordinated and that risks are minimized. By going rogue, you jeopardized not just the mission, but also your safety and the safety of others.”

You know respect is vital in your line of work, but you also know you need to stand up for yourself when faced with unjust criticism. Keeping your tone professional yet harsh, you defend your actions. “Forgive me if I appear hostile,” you state, trying to keep your voice even, “but I don’t see the problem at all. If I hadn’t acted, the Crimson Fox would have another artifact within his grasp right now.”

Director Han’s eyes narrow. “It’s not about the result, Agent. It’s about the process. You broke the rules, and that cannot be tolerated.”

“I followed my instincts because time was of the essence. The Crimson Fox is a highly skilled thief. Every second counts when dealing with him. Waiting for orders could have cost us the artifact.”

Director Liu shakes her head. “This isn’t about instincts. It’s about discipline and order. We have protocols for a reason.”

“And you have agents for a reason. What did those protocols achieve last night, exactly?” you retort. “A near loss of a valuable artifact. My actions, though unorthodox, were effective. I stopped him. I gained information. Is that not what we’re here to do?”

Director Kang leans forward, his expression stern. “This is not a debate, Agent. You acted outside your authority, and that’s unacceptable.”

You meet his gaze without flinching. “What’s unacceptable is prioritizing rules over results. We’re here to protect and to prevent crime. I did exactly that. If that means bending the rules to catch a thief, then so be it.” The room falls silent, tension hanging thick in the air. You can see their frustration, but you also see a hint of grudging respect. They may not admit it, but they know you have a point.

Director Han finally speaks, her tone measured. “We understand your perspective, but there will be consequences for your actions. We cannot have agents acting on their own accord.”

You nod, accepting the inevitable. “Understood, Director. But I stand by what I did. And given the chance, I’d do it again.”

Leaving the meeting room, you feel a mix of relief and lingering defiance. Maybe the Crimson Fox was right—this was a rash decision. But it’s definitely not a regrettable one. You acted on instinct, you took a risk, and it paid off. You prevented a theft and gained insight into your elusive adversary. Still, you can’t help but be clouded with frustration over their words. Why were they so defensive about wanting you to act only when they tell you to, and not on your own accord? The whole situation felt stifling, and it gnawed at you. Starting off your day on a bad note was definitely not the way to go; you didn’t want to carry more stress with you.

Deciding to clear your head, you leave the headquarters and head to the library. There are still a few hours left before you have to open it, but you figured you’d find a way to ease yourself there. The familiar scent of books and the quiet, peaceful atmosphere of the place always had a calming effect on you. Once you reach the library and head inside, you place your bag on the desk of your registrar and head through the aisles to see if there were any books you could read to pass the time. The rows of neatly shelved books stand as a comforting reminder of the worlds and stories they hold within.

You settle on a fantasy book titled “Pirate King,” its cover adorned with a design that promises you an escape from reality. Heading back to the registrar, you sit down and begin reading. The words transport you to a different world, a place where your current frustrations seem distant and insignificant.

Eight pages in, your earlier wake-up call catches up to you, and you feel sleepiness creeping back. After all, you weren’t supposed to start your day so early. The “meeting” felt like a colossal waste of time, and the exhaustion tugs at your eyelids. Deciding to close the book, you then place it gently on the desk. You retrieve your phone from your bag and set an alarm for 8 am.

Once it’s done, you lay your head down on the table, resting on your arms. The hard surface of the desk is surprisingly comforting as you let the warmth of your own body lull you into a sense of security.

As sleep begins to consume you, the last thoughts in your mind are of the day’s tasks ahead. But for now, in this small moment of peace, you allow yourself to drift off, letting go of the morning’s stress and the frustration that came with it before the day truly begins.

The alarm beeps two hours later, and you wake up instantly, reaching for the hand mirror in the drawer to check your appearance. Satisfied that you still look presentable, you get up and walk to the door, flipping the “Closed” sign to “Open” before returning to the registrar. You begin your work, and although you feel a bit lighter, the frustration from the morning lingers.

You don’t realize how consumed you are by your thoughts until the door chime signals your first customer. Quickly, you wipe the frustration from your face, replacing it with a warm smile. “Good morning, how can I help you today?”

The patron asks for help finding a specific book, and you guide them to the correct aisle, making small talk along the way. Once they’re settled, you return to your desk and dive back into your tasks, trying to use work as a distraction. Cataloging returns, reshelving books, assisting more patrons—it all helps keep your mind off the morning’s events, but the underlying frustration still simmers.

Hours pass, and it’s now near evening. The library’s peaceful atmosphere helps somewhat, but the lingering tension remains. As you sort through a stack of books to be shelved, your thoughts drift to Wooyoung. His energy and playful demeanor always have a way of lifting your spirits, so you wonder why he hasn’t shown up today, of all days when you could really use one of his random questions or amusing anecdotes.

You pause, staring at the book in your hand without really seeing it. Wooyoung’s absence feels more pronounced today, amplifying the frustration you've been trying to suppress. His visits, though often unexpected, have become a part of your routine that you look forward to. His knack for starting light-hearted conversations could have been the perfect remedy for your current mood. With a sigh, you shelve the book and move on to the next one, trying to shake off the melancholy thoughts.

Before closing the library during the after-hours of your job and heading out, you decide to bring the fantasy book you started earlier, Pirate King, with you. Though you only managed to read eight pages before sleep consumed you entirely, the story had already hooked you, and you were eager to continue. A good book was precisely what you needed to escape the stress that had been weighing you down.

Instead of heading straight home, you decide to visit a nearby river—a place you’ve been meaning to explore for a while. Work and missions always seemed to get in the way, but today, with no missions assigned (likely part of the directors’ “punishment” for your unauthorized actions last night), you finally have the opportunity.

Upon reaching the river, you find a serene spot with a bench overlooking the water. The gentle sounds of the flowing river and the rustling leaves create a calming atmosphere. You sit down, placing your bag beside you, and pull out Pirate King. As you open the book and start reading, the world around you fades, and you let yourself get lost in the story of Captain Arahn and his crew’s daring quest for the “Endless Aurora.” The stress from earlier begins to melt away with each turn of the page. The vivid descriptions of pirate adventures and the protagonist’s daring exploits transport you to another world, providing a much-needed escape from the frustrations of reality. The tranquility of the river combined with the captivating narrative of Pirate King helps you unwind. You savor the moments of peace, knowing that they are rare in your line of work.

While you’re getting engrossed in a specific part of the story where the Captain Ahran’s crew, the Black Phoenix, encounters the mysterious Sea Witch who holds a key to the “Endless Aurora,” a familiar voice speaks up from behind the bench.

“Pirate King, huh?”

Before you even turn your head, a small smile forms on your face—you know exactly who it is.

“Hey, Wooyoung,” you greet him, moving your bag to the other side of the bench and patting the now free spot beside you. He’s more than happy to oblige, his face lighting up with that characteristic, endearing enthusiasm. You close the book and place it on your lap, turning your attention to him. However, you immediately notice a bandage stapled over the side of his mouth. He catches your expression and waves you off nonchalantly before you could bring it up.

“Oh, this? Just a little accident while helping my uncle with some construction work. Nothing to worry about, really,” he says with a grin that suggests he’s more proud of the minor injury than concerned.

You don’t pry further. “So, you know Pirate King?” you ask instead, and he enthusiastically nods his head.

“Yeah! That one’s actually one of the very first books I read when I first started visiting the library, back when you weren’t working there yet,” he explains, a fond expression on his face.

You pick up the book from your lap, examining it—it does look pretty worn. “It’s one of the old books, huh? Makes sense.” You hum, placing it back on your lap. “Do you have a thing for fantasy books?” you tilt your head, waiting for his answer. He smiles and nods, his eyes lighting up with excitement. He then reveals that he actually read that book here when he was just a kid and that since then, he’s always imagined what his life would be like if he were a fantasy character.

“What did you want to be back then?” you push further, genuinely curious.

He leans back, a dreamy look in his eyes. “Just like the characters, I’ve always wanted to be a pirate, going on adventures, sailing the seas, hunting for treasures,” he shares with enthusiasm.

You chuckle, imagining a young Wooyoung running around, pretending to be a pirate. “What was your ‘fantasy name’?” you ask.

His eyes gleam with excitement as he responds. “Captain Stormbreaker! I imagined myself as this legendary pirate, feared and respected across all the seas. My ship was called the Tempest’s Fury, and my crew was the best there ever was. We’d find hidden treasures, outsmart rival pirates, and face mythical sea monsters.”

You laugh, enjoying the vivid picture he paints. “Captain Stormbreaker, huh? That sounds pretty impressive. Did you have a backstory for him?”

Wooyoung nods eagerly. “Of course! Captain Stormbreaker was an orphan raised by a secret society of sailors who taught him everything about the sea and combat. He swore to protect the oceans from those who sought to exploit them and to uncover the secrets of the world’s greatest treasures. Every adventure was a step closer to finding his true destiny.”

You smile, feeling your stress melt away as you listen to his animated storytelling. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Absolutely,” he says with a wide grin. “It was my favorite daydream growing up. And who knows, maybe one day I’ll find a way to make it a reality, even if it’s just in spirit.”

You nod, touched by his infectious enthusiasm. “Well, Captain Stormbreaker, I’m honored to be in your presence. Maybe one day, you’ll have to take me on one of your adventures.”

He laughs, a twinkle in his eye. “Deal. And who knows, maybe you have a hidden pirate persona too?”

You chuckle, the idea intriguing you. “Maybe. We’ll see.”

He pursues the idea, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Now that we’re at it, have you ever thought of having a pirate persona or a fantasy persona in general?”

You smile, touched by his boundless imagination. He seems like such a free spirit, and there’s a sense of freedom within him that you can’t help but admire. “I’ve never really thought of it,” you say with a shrug, playing along. “But now that you mention it, I’m quite curious—what persona would you construct for me, if given the chance?”

Wooyoung’s face lights up with excitement. “Oh, that’s easy! You’d be the enigmatic ‘Captain Shadowstrike’—a master strategist and fearless leader, known for your sharp wit and unparalleled combat skills. Your ship would be called the Nightfall, a sleek, fast vessel designed for stealth and precision.”

You laugh softly, the name and description fitting surprisingly well. “Captain Shadowstrike, huh? I like the sound of that. Tell me more.” You tuck a couple strands of your hair behind your ear when the evening breeze hits your face, waiting for his answer.

He puts his index finger on his chin, fully immersed in his tale. “Captain Shadowstrike was once part of a royal navy but turned rogue after discovering corruption within the ranks. You’d use your insider knowledge to stay one step ahead of both the law and rival pirates. Your crew would be a mix of skilled outcasts, each with their own unique talents, fiercely loyal to you.”

“And what would be my mission?” You lean forward, placing your palm flat down on the cold surface of the wooden bench, genuinely curious now.

“To uncover the lost city of Seloria,” Wooyoung says without hesitation. “Legend has it that Seloria holds treasures beyond imagination and secrets that could change the world. But it’s also guarded by ancient traps and mythical creatures, making it the ultimate challenge for any pirate.”

You raise an eyebrow, impressed by the depth of his story. “Sounds like quite an adventure. And what about you? Would Captain Stormbreaker and Captain Shadowstrike be allies or rivals?”

He grins, the playful glint in his eyes returning. “Definitely allies. We’d join forces to take on the biggest challenges and split the treasures. Imagine the legends that would be told about our exploits!”

You nod, feeling a sense of a new depth within your connection with Wooyoung brimming. “Well, Captain Stormbreaker, it looks like we make a formidable team.”

Wooyoung’s smile is infectious. “Two pirates teaming up to cause havoc catered to their own liking, call that Bonnie and Clyde in a different universe.”

He then shifts the conversation once both your laughters die down, a question that’s been on his mind for the past few minutes now surfacing. “What brings you here, anyway?” he asks with genuine curiosity.

You let out a soft sigh, looking towards the river, where the moon’s dim light shone in its reflection. “Today didn’t exactly go well.” You shrug, pursing your lips.

A look of concern flashes in his eyes, but he tries to lighten the mood. “Probably a good idea I didn’t stop by the library today then. I might’ve made your day worse with my endless nagging.”

Although you know he’s joking, you shake your head and look him in the eyes. “I was waiting for you to show up, actually.”

He blinks, momentarily taken aback. “Really? You were?”

You nod, feeling a bit vulnerable but honest. “Yeah. Your energy is contagious. It would have been nice to have a distraction from everything that happened.”

Wooyoung’s expression softens, and he leans back on the bench, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “I’m glad I ran into you here, then. If I can help distract you from a bad day, that’s the least I can do.”

You smile at his sincerity. “You always seem to lift my spirits, Wooyoung—and oftentimes, you’re blissfully unaware of it. It’s one of your many talents.”

He grins, his usual playful demeanor returning. “Well, if cheering you up means talking about pirate adventures and imagining ourselves as legendary captains, then I’m more than happy to oblige.” You both laugh, and the conversation flows naturally, easing the tension of the day.

You look at the book in your lap again and ask, “Do you have any favorite character from Pirate King in particular?”

Wooyoung hesitates for a moment, his eyes flicking to the book and then back to you. “I do, but I might drop a few spoiler bombs here and there. Are you sure you want to hear about it?” He asks, looking a bit sheepish.

You wave him off with a smile. “I don’t mind at all. I’d be more than happy to listen to you. Go ahead.”

Relieved, Wooyoung’s eyes light up, and he shifts excitedly on the bench. “Well, my favorite is definitely Captain Arahn! He’s the best character in the entire series for me,” he says, enthusiasm bubbling over. “I mean, first off, he’s the youngest captain to ever sail the seas, and he’s got this whole rebellious yet noble vibe going on. He’s incredibly smart and always a step ahead of his enemies, which is just so cool. There was this part where he outsmarted the entire Navy fleet with just a handful of his crew, and it was so epic!”

He continues, gesturing animatedly. “And his backstory! It’s so tragic yet inspiring. Losing his family at a young age and then rising from nothing to become the most feared and respected pirate captain—it’s just so compelling. Plus, his relationship with his crew is amazing. He’s not just their leader; he’s their friend and confidant. The way he treats everyone with respect and values their opinions, it’s no wonder they’re so loyal to him.”

You can’t help but smile as Wooyoung geeks out, his passion infectious. “And don’t get me started on his combat skills! He’s not just a brilliant strategist but also a formidable fighter. He had a duel with an Admiral named Valen, and it was one of the most intense scenes ever. His dual-wielding technique is so unique, and the way he incorporates acrobatics into his fighting style is just... wow.”

Wooyoung pauses for breath, his eyes sparkling. “And then there’s his softer side, the way he cares for the less fortunate and always fights for justice, even though he’s labeled an outlaw. That one scene where he saves the village from the corrupt governor really shows his true character. He’s the perfect mix of tough and tender, which makes him so relatable and admirable.”

You find yourself in a trance, a fond expression on your face as you listen to him with full attention. Wooyoung’s words flow endlessly, painting a vivid picture of Captain Arahn and why he resonates so deeply with him. His excitement is palpable, and you can see how much this character means to him.

“And the symbolism!” Wooyoung continues, his voice lowering a bit as he leans closer. “Captain Arahn’s ship, The Phoenix, represents rebirth and resilience. Every time it seems like they’re done for, they rise from the ashes stronger than before. It’s such a powerful metaphor for his life and his journey. And those moments of introspection he has while staring out at the sea, questioning his decisions and pondering his future—those are some of my favorite parts. They add so much depth to his character.”

He finally stops, a little out of breath, and looks at you with a wide smile. “Sorry, I get carried away when I talk about Pirate King. It’s just such an incredible story.”

You shake your head, your smile warm and genuine. “No, no. There’s nothing to apologize for. I love hearing you talk about it. Your passion is infectious, and it’s clear how much Captain Arahn means to you. It’s nice.”

Wooyoung beams, looking pleased and slightly bashful. “Thanks. I’m glad I could share it with you.”

As the night progresses, you find yourself lost in conversation with Wooyoung, his infectious energy gradually lifting the weight off your shoulders. It isn’t until he pauses, a wide smile on his face as you laugh, that you realize how much better you feel.

“Is there something on my face?” you ask, reaching for the small mirror in your bag. Before you can open it, Wooyoung gently grabs your wrist, shaking his head.

“No, it’s just... happiness looks good on you.”

His words catch you off guard, sending a warm, unexpected surge through your veins somewhere deep in the confines of your soul. Speechless, you don’t trust your words enough to speak for you, so respond with a genuine smile, which he mirrors with delight. Maybe Pirate King will become your go-to read from now on—not just for the tough days, but for the good ones, too.

—

You find yourself seated in the austere meeting room once again, facing the stern visages of the director board. They’ve called an urgent meeting to discuss the latest developments regarding the Crimson Fox. Apparently, they’ve managed to gather some critical intel: his next target is known. The artifact in question is an ancient, seemingly mundane item—an old, weathered compass without any apparent monetary value. Yet, the directors treat it as if it's the most crucial object in existence.

As Director Kang finishes outlining the basic details, confusion stirs within you. Two questions loom large: Why would the Crimson Fox target such an unremarkable artifact? And why does the director board seem far more driven to stop him this time compared to other, more valuable heists?

Unable to contain your curiosity, you speak up. “Do we have any information on why the Crimson Fox has chosen this particular artifact as his next target?”

Director Han meets your gaze but offers no satisfying answer. “We don’t have any specific details on his motives,” she says curtly, avoiding your eyes.

You frown, sensing there’s more to this than they’re letting on. “And why is this artifact so important to us? It seems to be treated with an unusual amount of importance compared to previous discussions about highly valuable items.”

The room falls silent, tension palpable in the air. Director Kang clears his throat and begins his explanation. “This compass,” he starts, holding up an image of the artifact on the holographic display, “is no ordinary navigational tool. It dates back to the early 15th century and is believed to have belonged to Admiral Zheng He, the famous Chinese explorer. While its monetary value might seem insignificant compared to other artifacts we’ve dealt with, its historical and strategic importance cannot be overstated.”

He taps the display, and a series of documents and old maps appear. “The compass was reputedly used during Zheng He’s voyages across the Indian Ocean and as far as the east coast of Africa. More importantly, it's said to be imbued with magnetic properties unlike any modern compass. These unique properties have puzzled historians and scientists alike, as they hint at a potentially advanced understanding of geomagnetism long before it was formally studied.”

He continues, “The compass itself doesn’t just represent historical significance; it’s believed to contain a map—hidden within its construction—that leads to one of Zheng He’s lost treasure fleets. If this map is real and falls into the wrong hands, it could lead to untold wealth and power. The geopolitical ramifications alone are enormous, and we're running out of time.”

Director Liu interjects, her tone serious. “We have reason to believe that the Crimson Fox has discovered this secret. His previous heists—seemingly random—were actually part of a pattern leading him to this very compass. He’s pieced together enough of the puzzle to make this his next target.”

Their explanations raise more questions than it answers, but you decide to press on. “But why the urgency? You’re saying time is running out—what exactly do you mean by that?”

Director Kang’s gaze sharpens, his tone growing more insistent. “The Crimson Fox is planning to strike tonight. We’ve intercepted enough chatter to know his timeline. This is why we need to act quickly. The organization will provide you with backup for this mission.”

You blink, taken aback. “Backup? Why now, of all times? Why do you think I need assistance?”

Director Han interjects with a vague, non-committal answer. “It’s to ensure your safety. The stakes are higher with this artifact, and we can’t afford to let him succeed.”

Their responses only deepen your skepticism, but you sense that pushing for more information would be futile. Leaning back in your seat, you decide to give them the benefit of the doubt, at least for now. “Alright, what’s the plan for tonight?”

Director Kang leans forward, his fingers steepled. “We have a detailed strategy in place. You will be the lead operative, with Agents Kim and Park as your immediate support. The warehouse where the compass is held has been fortified, and we’ve coordinated with local law enforcement to set up a perimeter. Your task is to intercept and apprehend the Crimson Fox before he can escape with the artifact.”

Director Liu adds, “We’ve also placed discreet surveillance around the area. Our tech team will be monitoring the feeds and providing real-time updates. We need you to stay sharp and rely on your instincts. This is a critical mission, and failure is not an option.”

You nod, absorbing the information. The pressure is palpable, but you steel yourself for the task ahead. “Understood. I’ll be ready.”

The directors give their final instructions, and you leave the meeting room, your mind still clouded with frustration and doubt. Why is this compass so important? What aren’t they telling you? As you head out of the headquarters, you decide to put these questions aside for now. There’s a mission to prepare for, and you need to be at your best.

Looking at how important this compass seems to be for the director board, you spend the next few hours in the headquarters’ high-tech training room, ensuring you’ll be at your best later. The room is equipped with state-of-the-art equipment designed to push agents to their limits.

You start with a series of warm-up exercises, focusing on flexibility and agility. Dynamic stretches ease the tension in your muscles, followed by a few rounds of shadowboxing to get your blood pumping. Moving on to the obstacle course, you navigate through various challenges designed to test your speed, coordination, and problem-solving skills. Each segment mimics potential real-world scenarios: crawling under laser grids, scaling walls, and maneuvering through a maze filled with holographic enemies that simulate combat situations. Next, you head to the combat simulator. The room transforms, projecting a virtual environment around you. You engage in hand-to-hand combat with AI opponents, each programmed with different fighting styles. Sweat drips down your forehead as you dodge, block, and strike, honing your reflexes and precision.

After the intense session, you shift to the firing range. You pick up a variety of weapons, from standard issue pistols to more specialized firearms, practicing your aim and control. Each target is a representation of a potential threat, some stationary and others moving unpredictably. You focus on accuracy and speed, each shot echoing through the room. Finally, you conclude with a cooldown routine. Gentle stretches and controlled breathing help your body recover, ensuring you’re in peak condition for the mission ahead. Satisfied with your preparations, you decide to call it a day and head to the headquarters’ lounge to take a breather.

In the lounge, you throw your head back, hanging it off the couch while closing your eyes. Just then, you feel the spot beside you sink down, and your eyes shoot open, only to see a fellow agent of yours sitting down while drinking a cup of coffee and reading a newspaper.

“Yeosang,” you straighten up in your seat, greeting him. The said man looks up from his newspaper, putting the coffee down on the lounge table as he turns to you, greeting you with a small smile on his face.

Kang Yeosang was the only fellow agent of yours you were close with—your bond forming one night two years ago when you had to be his personal assistant when he was new to ins and outs of being a secret agent. Long ago, you kept a promise to yourself not to let yourself warm up to any agents in this organization because you never know when you’ll lose them, and you don’t have it in you to suffer with grief countless times. But as soon as you felt an energy of warmth and naivety radiating from Yeosang as if he was someone who would not find a problem with letting people walk all over him as long as it benefited them—somehow, you made it a personal mission to keep him under your watch and teach him to be as strong as possible. You know how cruel this workspace and this world in general is, and you don’t want him to be harmed by that.

“Heard they were sending backup with you for your mission later,” he muses, and you immediately groan softly in response.

“Don’t remind me. It would’ve been better if you were one of the agents they assigned to accompany me—or if they hadn’t decided to send backup my way at all,” you slump your shoulders. It’s not that you don’t want to work with others, but you have a tendency of being hard-headed and reckless when you’re on the scene, and you know you’ll hardly be able to protect anyone that comes along with you for the danger you attract. It’s not that you hate your fellow agents—you just don’t want to drag them into the different level of danger you’re standing in compared to them.

“I still don’t get why they refuse to assign us to missions together.” He sighs, leaning back on the couch. “You tell me,” you deadpan, shrugging.

“How’s the cat-and-mouse game with the Crimson Fox going, anyway?” he turns to you, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

You then tell him all about it. Ever since you were able to train him to his finest shape, the director board transferred him to a different department, so you haven’t been able to hang out as much. Agents were also strictly forbidden to spend time together outside of their jobs—which you think is a very weird rule—so you always make sure to make the most out of moments like this with Yeosang.

“It’s been... complicated,” you admit. “The Crimson Fox is slippery, always a step ahead. But it appears we finally have a solid lead on his next target,” you cut your words off momentarily to lean closer, whispering in his ear, “the board’s acting a little shady about it, though.”

Yeosang listens intently as you describe the old compass and the board’s intense focus on it. “That does sound strange,” he agrees. “Why would they be so concerned about a seemingly worthless artifact?”

You shake your head. “That’s the mystery. There’s something about this compass they’re not telling me. It feels like there’s a bigger picture I’m missing.”

Yeosang frowns, deep in thought. “Be careful out there. If they’re sending backup, it means they’re expecting something significant.”

You nod, appreciating his concern. “I will. Thanks, Yeosang. I’ll try to keep you updated, even if it’s just through official channels.”

Just then, the speakers installed throughout the headquarters ring, and Director Han’s voice booms through them. “Agent Sylvil. Your presence is needed in the meeting room immediately.”

Sighing, you turn to Yeosang, lips pursed. “Well, I guess it’s time.”

He pats your shoulder, giving you an encouraging smile. “Take care out there. You’ve got this.” You ruffle his hair in response, standing up and heading straight to the meeting room. As you enter, you find many of your fellow agents already gathered, armed and ready. A dozen of them, each one looking determined and focused.

Director Han steps forward and begins to speak, her voice firm and authoritative. “Agents, tonight’s mission is critical. The Crimson Fox’s target is the ancient compass, and we cannot allow him to acquire it. Here’s the plan: We will deploy in two teams. Team Utopia, led by Agent Kim, will secure the perimeter and establish surveillance points. Team Aurora, led by Agent Park, will be the primary assault force and will engage the Crimson Fox directly if necessary.”

She pauses, looking around the room to ensure everyone is following. “Our mode of transport for this mission will be motorcycles. This will allow for quick maneuverability and a fast response time. Each team will have a designated route to the target location. Stay in constant communication and be prepared for anything.”

Director Han then turns to you. “Agent, your role is crucial. You’ll be providing overwatch and will have the autonomy to move as you see fit. We trust your judgment to intervene at the right moment. Remember, the goal is to secure the artifact and, if possible, capture the Crimson Fox. Any questions?”

No one speaks up, the air thick with anticipation. “Alright then. Gear up and move out.”

You and the other agents head to the garage, where sleek black motorcycles await. You mount your bike, choosing to stay behind the others to keep an eye on them. The engines roar to life, and soon, you’re speeding through the city streets, the wind whipping past you. The ride is swift, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you approach the target location. Upon arrival, you quietly separate yourself from the other agents without them noticing, slipping into the shadows to position yourself strategically.

The moonlight casts eerie shadows over the old, abandoned warehouse where the ancient compass is hidden. The 12 agents form a perimeter, their eyes scanning the area for any sign of the Crimson Fox. The night is still, the only sound being the distant hum of the city.

Suddenly, a figure drops from the rafters with feline grace, landing silently in the middle of the room. The Crimson Fox straightens up, his lips curling into a mocking smile. His eyes glint with amusement as he takes in the sight of the armed agents surrounding him.

“Oh, wow,” he drawls, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “An entire squad just for little old me? I’m flattered.” He pauses, his gaze flicking around the room. “But where’s my favorite nemesis? Why didn’t they send her alone instead? Surely that would be more worth my time.”

The agents glance around, noticing your absence. Their in-ear monitors beep, and your voice comes through. “I’ll be in the shadows to strike when he least expects it. Keep your guard up at all times—this is no ordinary thief you’re facing.”

The Crimson Fox notices the change in their demeanor, even without seeing the monitors. A wicked smile spreads across his face. “So she’s here, huh? Good. This should be interesting.”

The agents tighten their grips on their weapons, readying themselves for the confrontation. You remain hidden, watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. The tension in the air is palpable, the night shrouded in a veil of impending conflict. Agent Kim, leading Team Utopia, steps forward. “Give up. There’s no way out of this.”

The Crimson Fox laughs, a low, menacing sound. “Oh, I think I’ll manage.” With a sudden burst of speed, he darts forward, his movements a blur. He disarms Agent Park with a swift kick, sending his weapon skittering across the floor.

“Aurora, tighten formation.” you command, your voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “Utopia, flank him from the sides.” The agents move quickly, trying to encircle the Crimson Fox, but he is relentless. He spins, his fists and feet striking out with deadly precision. One agent goes down, then another, each one taken out with frightening efficiency.

“Is this the best you can do?” he taunts, delivering a spinning back kick to Agent Park’s midsection, sending him sprawling. “Don’t disappoint me now.”

“Aurora, regroup near the crates,” you order, directing them to a safer position. "Utopia, he’s heading your way.”

“Got it!” Agent Kim responds, signaling his team to reposition. They move swiftly, trying to outmaneuver the Crimson Fox. The fight is chaotic, the agents struggling to keep up with the Crimson Fox’s lightning-fast attacks. He seems to be everywhere at once, his movements a blur of dark red and black. He taunts them mercilessly, his voice a constant stream of mocking comments.

“Come on, you can do better than this!” he jeers, dodging a punch and retaliating with a swift elbow to the jaw. “Where’s your spirit, your drive? Did you leave it at home?”

You watch the scene unfold, your mind racing. “Agent Kim, he’s heading for the northwest corner. Cut him off.”

“On it!” Agent Kim replies, his team sprinting to intercept the Crimson Fox. The agents close in, their determination unwavering despite the odds. The Crimson Fox, however, remains one step ahead. He leaps onto a stack of crates, using the high ground to his advantage. From his elevated position, he delivers a powerful kick, sending another agent flying.

“Are you watching this?” he calls out to you, his voice dripping with derision. “Is this really the best your precious organization can offer?”

Your hands tighten into fists. “Utopia, distract him from the front. Aurora, prepare to flank.” The agents execute your orders, Aurora engaging the Crimson Fox head-on while Utopia moves to surround him. The fight intensifies, punches and kicks flying in every direction. The Crimson Fox parries each attack with ease, his movements fluid and precise.

“Nice try,” he sneers, catching Agent Park's arm and twisting it painfully. “But you’ll need more than that to catch me.”

Agent Park lunges forward, attempting to tackle the Crimson Fox, but he sidesteps smoothly, delivering a knee to his stomach. “Too slow!” he laughs, throwing him aside.

“Utopia, hit him from the left,” you instruct, your eyes never leaving the Crimson Fox. The agents comply, but the Crimson Fox anticipates their move. He ducks low, sweeping his leg out and knocking two agents off their feet. “Predictable,” he mutters, his gaze flicking upwards. “Come on, Agent. I know you’re out there.”

You grit your teeth, knowing you have to stay hidden for now. “Aurora, push him towards the back wall. Utopia, be ready to cut him off.” The agents press forward, forcing the Crimson Fox to retreat towards the back of the warehouse. He glances around, a calculating look in his eyes. “Interesting strategy,” he muses, blocking a punch from Agent Kim and countering with a sharp elbow to the ribs. “But it won’t work.”

Agent Kim regains his footing, charging at the Crimson Fox. “We’ve got you now!”

The Crimson Fox smirks, catching his arm and flipping him over his shoulder with effortless strength. “Do you, though?” He looks directly into the shadows where you're hidden. "I know you're waiting for the right moment, Agent. But how many more of your friends will fall before you act?"

Your heart races, knowing he’s trying to provoke you. “Hold your positions,” you instruct the agents. “He’s trying to bait us.”

Agent Kim narrows his eyes, his breathing heavy but determined. “We won’t let you win, Crimson Fox.”

The Crimson Fox chuckles, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “Oh, I already have.” He moves with blinding speed, taking down another agent with a swift combination of strikes. “And you know it.”

The fight continues, the agents growing weary but refusing to back down. The Crimson Fox remains relentless, his taunts never ceasing. “You should have stayed home,” he sneers, delivering a powerful kick to Agent Park’s chest. “This was a losing battle from the start.”

You watch, frustration boiling within you. “Aurora, fall back to the east side. Utopia, cover them.” The agents regroup, their resolve unwavering despite their injuries. They reposition, trying to find an opening, but the Crimson Fox’s defenses are impenetrable.

“Why do you fight for them?” he questions, his voice a mocking whisper as he catches Agent Kim's fist and twists it painfully. “Do you really believe in their cause?”

Agent Kim grits his teeth, refusing to yield. “We fight for justice.”

The Crimson Fox laughs, a cold, hollow sound. “Justice? How quaint.” He releases Kim with a shove, turning his attention to the others. “You are all pawns in a game you have yet to know of.”

You take a deep breath, your eyes locked onto the Crimson Fox, who is circling the agents like a predator. His confidence is palpable, a smirk playing on his lips as he surveys the scene. “What’s the plan, Agent? Are you going to save them at the last minute?”

You remain silent, watching from your vantage point on the ceiling, waiting for the perfect opportunity. The Crimson Fox’s eyes narrow, sensing the tension in the air. “Well? I'm waiting.”

The agents spring into action at your signal, converging on the Crimson Fox from all sides. He meets them head-on, his movements a blur of calculated strikes and swift dodges. Agent Park’s lunges first, aiming for a disabling blow, but the Crimson Fox sidesteps effortlessly, delivering a crushing elbow to his ribs. He crumples to the ground, gasping for breath.

“These are the agents that are supposed to take me down?” the Crimson Fox taunts, his voice dripping with disdain.

Agent Kim tries to catch him off guard with a low sweep, but the Crimson Fox leaps over her leg, landing a brutal kick to his shoulder that sends him sprawling. He doesn’t give him a chance to recover, following up with a series of rapid punches that leave him dazed and bleeding.

“Stay together,” you command through the comms, your voice tense. “Don’t let him isolate you.”

The agents regroup, their faces set with determination despite their injuries. They attempt a coordinated attack, moving in unison to trap the Crimson Fox, but he’s always one step ahead. He disarms Agent Park with a quick twist of his wrist, then slams him into a nearby wall with a force that leaves cracks in the concrete.

“Pathetic,” the Crimson Fox sneers, glancing around at the fallen agents. “You should have brought more.”

Agent Park, struggling to his feet, charges again. The Crimson Fox catches his fist mid-swing, twisting his arm behind his back and slamming him to the ground. He doesn’t get up this time.

“When’s your leader planning on coming out?" the Crimson Fox calls out, his voice echoing through the warehouse. “Or does she want to just stay in the shadows and let you all crumble?”

You watch helplessly as Agent after Agent falls. The Crimson Fox’s taunts grow more vicious, each victory fueling his arrogance. “This is almost too easy. Do you really think you can stop me?”

Agent Kim manages to land a glancing blow to his jaw, but the Crimson Fox’s retaliatory strike is swift and punishing. He grabs him by the collar and throws him into a stack of crates, the impact knocking him unconscious.

“Aurora, pull back—” you instruct, but it's too late. The Crimson Fox is relentless, cutting down the agents with brutal efficiency. His movements are a deadly dance, each strike perfectly timed and devastatingly effective.

“Come on, Agent,” he mocks, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. “Are you just going to let them die?”

Agent Park makes one last desperate attempt, but the Crimson Fox sidesteps, delivering a bone-crushing kick to his knee. He collapses with a cry of pain, clutching his leg.

The warehouse falls silent except for the labored breathing of the wounded. The Crimson Fox stands amid the fallen agents, his chest heaving from exertion but his confidence unshaken. “Is that it?”

You feel a surge of anger and frustration. The agents lie scattered around the warehouse, unconscious and severely wounded. The Crimson Fox’s eyes scan the room, searching for you.

“I know you’re here,” he says, a wicked smile spreading across his face. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

You wait for the perfect moment, then launch yourself from your hiding spot on the ceiling, tackling him from behind. Your kick sends him nearly falling to the ground, but he manages to steady himself just in time.

“Finally decided to join the party, did you?” he taunts, turning to face you, a gleam of surprise and annoyance in his eyes.

You don’t respond, keeping your focus solely on him. The weight of the fallen agents presses on you, fueling your determination. “This ends now,” you say, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

The Crimson Fox laughs, a cold, mocking sound. “I don’t think so.”

The fight begins in earnest. You lunge at the Crimson Fox, your movements precise and calculated. You strike first, landing a solid hit on his jaw. He stumbles back, surprised by your speed and strength.

“Can’t you do any better?” you taunt, pressing your advantage.

The Crimson Fox regains his footing, a cruel smile spreading across his face. “You think you’re special because you knocked me back a bit?” he sneers. “Your friends didn’t fare so well.”

Ignoring his taunts, you unleash a flurry of punches and kicks, each one driving him further back. For a moment, you feel a surge of confidence—you have the upper hand. But as the fight drags on, his words start to seep into your mind.

“Look at them,” he says, gesturing to the fallen agents. “All of them thought they could beat me. They thought you would save them.”

You grit your teeth, trying to block out his words, but the pained expressions on the faces of your fellow agents remain in your line of sight. Each glance at their unconscious bodies weakens your resolve.

“You’re so dedicated to your job,” the Crimson Fox continues, dodging your next strike with ease. “So dedicated you sacrificed their lives to get it done. You’re making it more obvious that you want to catch me not because you have to, but because that’s the only thing that’ll reassure you that you’re still good enough.”

“Shut up,” you growl, trying to regain your focus. But the words sting, hitting closer to home than you'd like to admit.

“You let them fight me without your aid, thinking they could handle it. Look at where they are now—broken and bleeding because of your arrogance.”

His relentless taunting chips away at your concentration. The memory of your fallen comrades’ faith in you and your failure to protect them plays over and over in your mind. Your attacks become sloppy, your defense weakens. He starts to gain the upper hand, his strikes landing with increasing accuracy and power.

“You think you can handle this on your own? Pathetic. They were counting on you, and you failed them.”

“Open that mouth of yours one more and I’ll make sure you’ll have no voice to speak for you by the end of the night,” you say through ragged breaths, but the doubt in your voice is unmistakable. He doesn’t listen to you, choosing to continue driving you on edge. “You were their last hope, and you let them down.” He laughs, his voice a poisonous whisper.

“You let them die.”

The last shred of your focus crumbles. You swing at him, desperate to silence his mocking voice, but he dodges easily, moving behind you in a flash. You feel a sharp, sudden pain at the back of your neck as he hits a nerve. Your vision blurs, darkness creeping in at the edges. “No,” you whisper, but it’s too late. The world goes black, and you collapse to the ground, unconscious.

When you wake up a short while later, the first thing you notice is the cold, hard chair pressing against your back. The tight ropes wrapped around your torso dig into your skin, restricting your movement. You struggle, the chair creaking beneath you, but the bindings hold firm. Your mouth is gagged with a bandana, muffling any sound you try to make. Frustration and anger bubble up inside you as you recall the events leading to your capture. Your mind races, replaying the moment the Crimson Fox struck you down. You should have been better. You should have saved your team.

Out of the shadows, the Crimson Fox emerges, his arms crossed and a smug grin on his face. He walks toward you with a casual, almost leisurely pace, his eyes never leaving yours. Despite the mask still covering the rest of your face, he can see the fury and humiliation in your eyes.

“Look who’s awake,” he says, his voice dripping with mockery. “Comfortable?”

You try to stay calm and composed, but the sight of him makes your blood boil. You strain against the ropes, the chair creaking louder, but it’s no use. The gag stifles your attempts to speak, turning your words into frustrated, muffled sounds, making the Crimson Fox laugh. He crouches in front of you, close enough that you can see the amusement in his eyes. “Oh, don’t give me that look.” He rolls his eyes. “You brought this upon yourself.”

You glare at him, your eyes burning with defiance. He scoffs, clearly entertained by your futile struggle. “You thought you could catch me, didn’t you?” he says, shaking his head. “Such arrogance. Did you really think you were good enough for that?” He stands up, pacing around you. “You know, I was expecting more from you. I’ve heard so much about your skills and your dedication. But now that I’m seeing you like this... I can’t say I’m not disappointed.”

You try to shout something, but the gag turns your words into unintelligible noise. The Crimson Fox laughs, clearly enjoying your helplessness. “Hmm? What’s that? Trying to say something?” He leans in closer, his voice a whisper. “You look so vulnerable right now. So weak. It's almost... endearing.”

He steps back, tilting his head as he looks at you. “Tell me something,” he says, his tone more thoughtful now. “Have you ever doubted your cause? Ever wondered if the side you’re fighting for is truly the right one?”

You frown, trying to understand his angle. He chuckles softly. “Ah, I see it in your eyes. That flicker of doubt. You’ve always been so dedicated to your job, so sure of your purpose. But have you ever stopped to question it?”

He starts speaking in riddles, his words twisting and turning. “Not everything is as it seems. Sometimes, the lines between right and wrong blur. Heroes and villains, they’re often two sides of the same coin. Haven’t you ever considered that?”

Your eyes narrow, and he smirks. “You think you’re fighting for justice, for the greater good. But what if the very people you work for are hiding the truth from you? What if you’re just a piece of a bigger puzzle?”

He crouches down again, closer this time. “You see, they’re not as noble as you think. They have secrets, dark ones. And you’re blindly following their orders, thinking you’re making a difference. But are you?”

His words worm their way into your mind, sowing seeds of doubt. “You’re dedicated, I’ll give you that. But dedication without question, without understanding, is just another form of blindness.”

“Think about it. Reflect on your cause,” he murmurs, his voice a blend of mockery and genuine challenge. He leans forward, hooking a finger under the bandana wrapped around your mouth, and pulls it down. “Because sometimes, the world is not always as it seems.”

As the gag falls away, he’s back to taunting you. “So, Agent, feeling a bit more talkative now?” You meet his gaze with a fiery glare, blood from a split lip pooling in your mouth. Without breaking eye contact, you spit the blood onto his face. He’s taken aback for a moment, wiping it off with a disgusted sneer. But then he scoffs, a dark laugh bubbling up from his chest.

“Feisty, aren’t we?” he says, clearly amused. “I admire your spirit. It’s a shame it’s so misdirected.”

“You think tying me up proves anything?” you retort, eyes burning with anger. “It just shows how terrified you are of facing me head-on.”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying the banter. “Terrified? No, no. I’m just smart. Smarter than your entire organization, it seems.”

“You hide behind tricks and deception,” you snap. “Real strength doesn’t need such cowardice.”

He wipes the remaining blood from his face, looking at you with a mix of admiration and disdain. “Real strength? Like the strength your agents showed? Oh, wait, they’re all unconscious.”

You grit your teeth, the sight of your fallen comrades still fresh in your mind. “You won’t get away with this. You think this is over?” you challenge, keeping your voice firm despite your resolve crumbling. “This is just the beginning. I will hunt you down, no matter where you hide.”

He smirks, clearly entertained by your defiance. “Big words for someone in your position. Now that you can use that mouth of yours, tell me, why are you so dedicated to catching me? What is it you’re really fighting for? You’ve always claimed you’re fighting for… justice,” he mocks, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “And yet, your ‘justice’ left your comrades bleeding and broken.”

“They knew the risks,” you reply, refusing to let him see any doubt. “We all did. And we’re willing to pay the price to stop you.”

"Such dedication," he muses, almost to himself. “Haven’t you ever wondered if you’re fighting for the right side?”

You narrow your eyes, refusing to let his words shake you. “Save your philosophical musings for someone who cares. I know what’s right, and it’s not you.”

“We’ll see,” he says, standing up straight and looking down at you. “We’ll see how long that conviction lasts.”

He leans in closer, his voice a low whisper. “Remember, Agent, the truth is often hidden in plain sight. Keep your eyes open.”

He leaps out of the window by the roof of the warehouse, a mocking farewell echoing back to you. As soon as he’s out of sight, you struggle against the ropes binding you. Although he left you untouched while you were unconscious, he had been smart enough to ensure you were restricted from using your suit’s full capabilities. Every movement sends sharp aches through your body, the ropes digging into your skin.

Just then, you notice a small red button blinking in the corner of the room. Squinting, you recognize it as a surveillance camera. Had it been shut down the entire time? The fact that it’s only working now, after the Crimson Fox left, could only mean one thing—he saw this coming. He knew what was going to happen and had prepared meticulously. As you continue to struggle, your in-ear monitor beeps, signaling an incoming call. Director Han’s voice comes through, urgent and tense.

“Agent, the Crimson Fox knew of our plan beforehand. He managed to shut down all cameras so we couldn’t supervise you and your team.”

You grit your teeth, frustration bubbling up. “Director Han, I need immediate assistance at the warehouse. My fellow agents are severely wounded.”

“Yes, I can see you from the camera in the separate room you’re in,” Director Han responds. “We’re mobilizing a team now. Hang tight.”

“Prioritize the agents first,” you urge, your voice firm despite the pain. “They need medical attention immediately. I can manage, but they can't.”

The call ends, leaving you in silence once more. Your mind races, guilt gnawing at you. The sight of your comrades lying unconscious, wounded by the Crimson Fox, flashes through your mind. You should have done more. You should have been faster, smarter.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours, each second marked by the pulse of the red light on the camera. Finally, you hear the sound of footsteps approaching, hurried and heavy. The door bursts open, and medical personnel rush in, followed by a team of agents. Before they even get to ask about your condition, you cut them off, urgency in your voice. “What’s the status of the other agents?”

“They’re injured but stable. The medics are with them now,” one of the agents informs you.

“Good. Hurry up and cut these ropes. They need help more than I do,” you command, your tone brooking no argument. As soon as you’re free from the ropes’ grasp, you try to stand up quickly but a sharp pain shoots through your body, making you hiss. The agents rush to assist, attempting to place your arm over their shoulders for support, but you wave them off. “Go back to the others and prioritize their care,” you insist.

The agents exchange uncertain glances, clearly concerned. You usually avoid using your position as the highest-level secret agent to assert authority, but this is different. “That’s an order,” you state firmly. “Now go.”

Reluctantly, they comply, hurrying back to where the other agents are. Left alone in the room, you take a moment to steady yourself, looking up at the window where the Crimson Fox made his escape. A sigh escapes your lips, and you begin to move, each step sending waves of pain through your body. Your hand clutches your torso, pressing against the spot where the Crimson Fox had landed a particularly hard punch. You cough, a pool of blood splattering the floor, and groan in pain. But you know your fellow agents have gone through worse. They’re more hurt than you are. Summoning every ounce of strength, you follow after the medics who had just left. When you reach the area of the warehouse where the Crimson Fox had easily knocked out your team, the sight that greets you fills you with guilt. Agents are being aided or carried away on stretchers, their injuries severe. Medics work swiftly, tending to wounds and stabilizing the unconscious. You stand there, watching the scene unfold, guilt gnawing at you.

Were you really good enough? Were you really good enough if you let this happen? The question lingers in your mind, the faces of your fallen comrades haunting you. Each pained expression, each wound, is a testament to the stakes of your mission and the high price of failure. You feel a weight settling over you, heavier than any physical injury. The responsibility, the burden of leadership, and the doubt of your own abilities press down on you, almost suffocating. You’re supposed to be their shield, their leader. And you had failed.

Back at headquarters, you’re the only agent still conscious after the fight, the sole presence in the meeting room with the directors. The silence feels deafening as you stare into the void, numbness enveloping you. You attempt to distract yourself from the harrowing events, but it’s futile. Director Liu’s sharp call of your name snaps you out of your thoughts, and you clear your throat, mumbling an apology. She then begins the debriefing. “When you and the other agents were being escorted back to headquarters, the investigative team went to the warehouse to locate the artifact. The location was provided to them by the director board. Surprisingly, it was still there.”

You’re supposed to feel relieved, to have the weight lifted off your shoulders, but instead, a sense of doubt and suspicion creeps in. Why didn’t the Crimson Fox steal it? Was stealing it even his intention in the first place? And how did the director board know the exact location of the artifact inside the warehouse? Their voices of celebration are hollow in your ears. You speak up, your tone devoid of enthusiasm, lacking its usual professionalism.

“Was it worth it?”

The directors turn to you, confusion etched on their faces. “What do you mean?” Director Kang asks.

“Was it worth sacrificing the lives of our agents for an artifact?” Your words hang in the air, heavy with accusation. You’re not only targeting them but also yourself—your recklessness, your selfishness.

Director Kang chuckles awkwardly, attempting to lighten the mood. “This is exactly what agents are for. They take risks for justice, for the greater good.”

“They didn’t want to nearly die, though, did they?” you retort, your eyes fixed on the table. Not because you’re afraid of meeting their gaze, but because you don’t want to see your reflection in their eyes—the reflection of a fool, of failure. “You know the risks imposed by the Crimson Fox, I know them—but those agents you sent? They didn’t. They didn’t risk their lives for justice; you put their lives on the line without letting them know what they were getting into beforehand. You said it yourself—I’m the only person capable of handling this mission. And yet you sent them anyway.”

Director Han brushes you off, her tone dismissive. “I don’t quite understand why you’re being so emotional. This is unlikely coming from you, Agent. If you’re so concerned about them, then why didn’t you do your best to protect them? They wouldn’t have been wounded if you just taught yourself to be less selfish and reckless, no? Quit the emotional turmoil. The compass is now in our hands, and that’s the only thing that matters. You’re dismissed.”

The finality in her words stings. You rise from your seat, feeling the weight of their gazes on your back as you turn to leave the room. The doubts and guilt gnaw at you, refusing to let go. You know that while the compass may be secured, the cost was too high. Director Liu calls out your name before adding, “Given the circumstances, it’s highly unlikely that the Crimson Fox will strike again anytime soon. For now, the mission will be put on hold.”

You nod, absorbing their words. But the relief they seem to feel only deepens your inner turmoil. Dismissed, you walk out of the meeting room, your steps heavy with guilt. As you walk through the halls of the headquarters, you pass by the infirmary. Through the transparent doors, you see all of your fellow agents who were with you on the mission, lying on hospital beds, their injuries a stark reminder of the night’s failure. A tear slips down your cheek as you tear your gaze away and continue walking.

This was exactly your biggest fear. You didn’t mind being sent on dangerous missions, didn’t mind losing a limb for what it was worth, didn’t mind dying by the hands of a criminal—but inflicting harm on your colleagues because of your rash decisions was something that would always haunt you. They were hurt, not just because of the Crimson Fox, but because of you.

You weren’t a fool to trust them, but you were a fool to not foresee the consequences of your orders. Agents send concerned looks your way as you pass through the hall, but you use every fiber in your body to try to ignore them. Passing by the lounge, you catch sight of Yeosang. Just as he’s about to approach you, you quicken your steps to the elevator leading out of the headquarters.

Each step on your way home feels dreadful. Once you finally arrive home, you can’t even muster the strength to go to your bedroom. The moment you close your house’s door, you press your back against it, sliding down as sobs wrack your body. You cry endlessly, not even allowing yourself a moment to breathe. The guilt, the doubt, the haunting images of your fallen comrades—all of it overwhelms you, leaving you feeling more vulnerable than ever before.

Were you truly good enough for this? Was tonight really as much of a success as the directors were making it out to be? Was not having to be on the scene for about a week really something to celebrate? Sure, they shouldn’t have sent those agents to begin with, but you should’ve thought more rationally, too. The words the Crimson Fox spat rang endlessly in your mind.

“You think you’re fighting for justice, for the greater good. But what if the people you work for are hiding the truth from you? What if you’re just a pawn in their game? You see, they’re not as noble as you think. They have secrets, dark ones. And you’re blindly following their orders, thinking you’re making a difference. But are you?”

As you sit there, the implications of his words gnaw at you. What if the directors were hiding something? Their dismissive attitude towards your injured colleagues, their relentless pursuit of the seemingly insignificant artifact, and their lack of transparency—all of it began to form a troubling picture. The directors didn’t seem to care about your fellow agents that were wounded. They only cared about the artifact and the mission. The thought unsettled you, planting a seed of doubt in your mind about the true nature of the organization you were so dedicated to.

And then you remember what he said that hit you the most.

“You know, I was expecting more from you. I’ve heard so much about your skills, your dedication. But now that I see you like this... I’m disappointed.”

Disappointed.

Were you really worth holding your title if you couldn’t even catch a thief your level? Were you really as good as you were made out to be, or had you just never found your match all along—until now?

You begin to question everything. The confidence you once had in your abilities feels shattered. The Crimson Fox had not only outsmarted you but had also tainted you with a sense of doubt about the very organization you served. You wonder if you’ve been blind to the darker aspects of the agency, too focused on your missions to see the bigger picture. You sit there, questioning your place in all of this. Were you really making a difference, or were you, like he had said, just another pawn in a game you didn't fully understand?

—

The next few days were nothing short of dread for you. The library, once your sanctuary and source of normalcy in your chaotic life, now felt like a chore. Each book you shelved, each patron you assisted, only reminded you of the emptiness gnawing at your core. You tried to convince yourself that you were unaware of the reason, but deep down, you knew it all too well.

Wooyoung hadn’t visited the library since the night of the mission to stop the Crimson Fox from getting his hands on the compass—the night that started this numbness. His absence left a void, a missing puzzle piece in your life. You had always found solace in his presence, a beacon guiding you back to the right path when your mind was a storm. But now, in your time of need, he was nowhere to be found. Even now, as you assisted a patron in finding a book that suited their interests, your thoughts drifted to Wooyoung. Where was he? What was he doing? Why hadn’t he come to see you? Was he thinking about you, too? You were so lost in thought that you didn’t notice the patron gently tugging the sleeve of your blouse.

“Excuse me, miss. Could you tell me more about this book?” the patron asked, holding up a novel.

You blinked, bringing yourself back to the present. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, clearing your throat. You began explaining the book’s plot and themes, managing a weak smile as the patron thanked you and walked away. Left alone in the aisle, you found yourself staring blankly at the shelves, drowning in your thoughts. Time seemed to blur. You didn’t know how long you had been standing there until a familiar voice broke through your haze.

“Oh, there you are! I was wondering where you—” Wooyoung’s cheerful tone trailed off as he saw the expression on your face.

You turned to him, eyes brimming with unshed tears. He quickly closed the distance between you and entered the aisle you were standing in, his concern evident. “Hey, are you okay?”

His words were the final push, breaking down the fragile walls you had built around your emotions. Without a second thought, you let yourself fall into his arms, burying your face in his shoulder. The dam broke, and you sobbed uncontrollably, your body shaking with the force of your emotions.

Wooyoung held you tightly, his hand gently stroking your back. “It’s okay, it’s okay, alright?” he whispered, his voice a soothing balm to your shattered spirit. “I’m here. Just let it out.”

The comfort of his embrace was overwhelming. You clung to him as if he were your lifeline, the tears flowing freely now. The pain, guilt, and doubt you had been holding back poured out in waves. He didn’t rush you or press for answers, simply standing there, offering silent support.

Wooyoung led you to a secluded area of the library, away from prying eyes. He found a quiet corner with a small table and sat you down, choosing to sit beside you instead of across. The soft, ambient light filtered through the high windows, casting gentle shadows around you both. His presence was comforting, a steady anchor in your turbulent sea of emotions.

Without a word, he began rubbing gentle circles on your back, his touch soothing. He seemed to instinctively know that you weren’t ready to talk, that you needed a moment to collect yourself. The library was silent except for the soft rustle of pages and distant whispers, providing a tranquil backdrop to your chaotic thoughts. You kept your eyes down on the table, focusing on the grain of the wood as you tried to steady your breathing.

After a while, when the storm of your emotions had calmed to a manageable level, you finally spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Wooyoung blinked, clearly puzzled by your apology. “Hey, no, don’t say that. You have nothing to apologize for,” he said gently, but you waved him off before he could continue.

“I didn’t mean to just suddenly have an outburst like that,” you explained, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise to your cheeks.

“It’s normal,” he reassured you, his tone soothing. “It’s okay to let it out. It happens to everyone.” He paused, gauging your reaction. When he saw that you weren’t ready to dwell on your breakdown any further, he quickly shifted the conversation, his next statement catching you off guard.

“I think roadman vampires would be pretty sick.”

The sudden statement startled you out of your melancholic state. You looked at him with an unreadable expression, as if he had just blurted out the most absurd combination of words to ever exist. “Sorry, what?” you asked, incredulous.

“I mean, think about it,” Wooyoung continued, undeterred. “Picture me this: you’re walking down the street, right? It’s dark, a bit sketchy. Suddenly, this roadman vampire rolls up on you, tracksuit and all, but instead of asking for drugs or some cash, he’s like, ‘Bruv, spare us a pint of your blood?’”

You stared at him, still trying to process the bizarre turn the conversation had taken. “Are you serious right now? What, like, ‘Oi mate, got any O negative?’”

"Yeah! And instead of carrying knives, they carry little blood bags strapped to their belts—and their hoodies have those fake vampire teeth printed on them. ‘Bloodsucker’ written in bold letters across their backs.”

You couldn’t help but be caught off guard. The mental image he painted was so ridiculous that you found yourself struggling to hold back a laugh. “No, seriously! Imagine the street lingo mixed with vampire lore. ‘I’ll suck ya blood, fam’ becomes their catchphrase.”

That did it. You broke into a short fit of laughter, struggling to keep your voice down in order not to disturb the other patrons. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but this time from amusement rather than sorrow.

“What do you think?” he urges, insistent on pushing further with his agenda.

“I think you’ve officially lost your mind,” you said between giggles, shaking your head. Silence engulfs both of you—a comfortable one at that, while Wooyoung seems to still be imagining the scenario of randomly stumbling upon a roadman vampire. Just then, three words came out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“I missed you.”

The library around you seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with the weight of your admission. Wooyoung's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by your confession. You hurriedly straightened up in your seat, trying to backtrack, your cheeks warming with embarrassment.

“I mean, it’s just, you know, you have this infectious enthusiasm and—”

“You did?” Wooyoung interrupted softly, his voice tinged with a mix of surprise and hope. “You missed me?”

Your heart raced as you met his gaze, searching for any sign of judgment or discomfort. There was none. Just a flicker of something warm and genuine in his eyes that made you feel oddly vulnerable. “I... I did,” you admitted quietly, unable to look away from him.

A smile slowly spread across Wooyoung's face, softening his features. “Well, tell you what, I missed you too,” he confessed, his voice gentle. “It felt strange not having you around.”

A rush of relief flooded through you, mingling with a hint of disbelief. You had expected awkwardness or perhaps a polite deflection, not this genuine reciprocation.

“You did? Like, really, really did?” you echoed his words, trying to lighten the mood with a hint of playful skepticism.

Wooyoung chuckled, his smile widening. “Yeah, I really, really did.”

His genuine response eased the tension between you, and you found yourself relaxing in his presence. The heaviness of the past few days seemed to lift slightly, replaced by a warmth you hadn’t felt in a while. “You know,” Wooyoung continued, his tone light but sincere, “you’re an amazing person. Strong, dedicated, caring. You might not always see yourself that way, but trust me when I say that’s how you look in my eyes.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his unexpected praise. “You think so?” You tilt your head.

“Know so.”

He then continued, “And, you know, if you ever need someone to distract you by reading the entire Hotel Transylvania script in roadman slang, I’m your guy.”

“You’re my guy?” you teased, unable to resist poking fun at Wooyoung's unintentional slip.

“I mean, um, you know, for when you’re going through a tough time or just want to hang out. Not in that way, or, like, I mean, if you—” Wooyoung stumbled over his words, cheeks flushing slightly.

You cut him off with a laugh. “I know what you mean, Woo. I was just messing around.” The nickname slipped out effortlessly, and you didn’t even notice it, but Wooyoung felt his heart skip a beat.

After your playful banter, you stood up, straightening the light crinkles on your blouse. Wooyoung looked at you curiously. “Where are you going?”

You smiled amusedly at him. “You know I’m the librarian here, right?”

Wooyoung chuckled bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah, yeah, right.”

Before you could head back to your station at the registrar, you turned back to him. “Thanks for making me feel better, Wooyoung.”

As you started to walk away, Wooyoung stood up abruptly, catching up to you. “Wait.” He gently grabbed your wrist, and you turned to him with a surprised look. “Yeah?”

He stumbled over his words for a moment before blurting out, “I was thinking... maybe I could take you out to dinner tonight. Just to lift off the rest of your burdens and have a good time together. My treat.”

Silence fell between you for a couple of seconds, and Wooyoung appeared nervous, waiting for your response. You smiled at him, unable to resist teasing a little. “Are you asking me out on a date?”

The joke was meant to lighten the mood, but as Wooyoung shyly chuckled, your eyes widened in slight surprise. He was.

“It’s okay if you don’t—”

“I’d love to, Woo,” you interrupted, your smile growing wider at the genuine delight on his face.

“Really? I mean, cool, cool. Yeah, cool,” Wooyoung tried to play it off casually, but his eyes betrayed his excitement.

You returned to the counter to continue your work, aware of Wooyoung stealing glances at you from his seat nearby. Each time your eyes met, he would quickly look away, making you chuckle softly to yourself.

When your shift finally ended, Wooyoung’s enthusiasm was almost palpable, though he tried to mask it with nonchalance. It was endearing to see how he eagerly offered to handle the closing duties. He started tidying up the library, insisting you just sit back and relax. He even took your bag, slinging it over his shoulder with a playful smile.

Once you were outside, as you locked the doors with your keys, Wooyoung reached up to pull down the metal shutter. You stopped him by gently holding his wrist. “I can handle it,” you said with a smile.

He looked at you, his eyes warm. “I know you can, but I want to help.”

Caught off guard by his sincerity, you let go of his wrist and watched as he effortlessly brought down the shutter. It was a simple gesture, but it made you feel cared for in a way you hadn’t expected. As the two of you walked down the quiet street, you couldn't help but ask, “So, where are you taking me?”

Wooyoung’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “That’s a surprise. Just trust me.”

You chuckled, deciding to play along. The comfortable silence that settled between you was filled with a sense of ease and familiarity. You took the opportunity to glance at him, noticing the effort he had put into his appearance tonight. He looked especially dashing, dressed in a black turtleneck and well-fitted pants, exuding a charm that was hard to ignore.

“So, this is why you’re all dressed up, huh?” you teased, a hint of a smile on your lips.

He looked slightly bashful but met your gaze with a grin. “Well, I had to make a good impression.”

You laughed, feeling a lightness in your chest that had been absent for days. The weight of your earlier troubles seemed to lift, if only for a moment, as you walked beside Wooyoung. The evening air was cool and refreshing, and as you walked, you found yourself feeling increasingly at ease. Wooyoung kept the conversation light, sharing amusing stories and anecdotes from his recent trip. His animated storytelling and genuine enthusiasm made you smile and laugh, easing the lingering tension in your mind.

When you finally arrived at the restaurant, you were pleasantly surprised. It was a cozy, intimate place with a warm ambiance. Wooyoung held the door open for you, and you feel a sense of anticipation. As you and Wooyoung entered the cozy restaurant, a waiter greeted you both with a warm smile. “Ah, what a lovely couple! Please, follow me to your table,” he said, turning to lead you through the intimate setting before you had a chance to correct him.

The waiter led you to a table in a quiet corner, and you noted the reserved sign with a small, appreciative smile. Once seated across from each other, you looked at Wooyoung with playful skepticism. “So, you reserved a table for the lovely couple, huh?”

Wooyoung quickly waved his hands defensively. “I swear, I didn’t tell him we were a couple or anything like that!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Relax, Woo. I’m just playing around.”

You both placed your orders, and as you waited for your food, the conversation naturally turned to his recent trip due to you asking him about it. While he was recalling fragments of moments from it, a particular memory appeared in his mind.

“Oh, you know, one day, we were painting this huge section and suddenly a storm rolled in. We had to scramble to cover everything and ended up drenched. We were laughing so hard by the end of it. It was a mess, but a fun one,” he said, his eyes twinkling with the memory. “It was pretty hilarious. We spent the next day fixing everything that got messed up, but it was worth it. The mural turned out amazing, and Yunho was really happy with it.”

“Sounds like you had a great time,” you said, feeling more relaxed as you listened to his stories.

“I really did! Enough about me, though,” Wooyoung said suddenly, leaning forward. “I want to know more about you.”

You blinked, a bit taken aback. “Huh?”

“You know so much about me, but I know almost nothing about you,” he pointed out, his expression earnest.

It struck you that he was right. “You... want to know more about... me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked, smiling warmly.

You hesitated for a moment, considering how to navigate this without revealing too much. “Well, there’s not much to tell. I’ve always been more of a listener than a talker,” you began cautiously.

He tilted his head, encouraging you to continue. “Come on, there has to be something. Hobbies? Favorite books? Something you’ve always wanted to do?”

You began pondering, trying to gather your thoughts. “Well, let’s see... I guess I’ve always been a bit of a bookworm. I love getting lost in stories, exploring different worlds, and seeing life from different perspectives. That’s partly why I enjoy working at the library so much. It’s like being surrounded by endless possibilities.”

Wooyoung nodded, his eyes fixed on you with genuine interest. “I can totally see that. You always seem so at home there, like it’s your sanctuary.”

“It really is,” you agreed with a small smile. “I find comfort in its silence, the smell of books, and the sense of order. It’s a nice contrast to how chaotic life can get sometimes.”

“Do you have a favorite book?” Wooyoung asked, leaning in slightly.

You thought for a moment, a smile forming on your lips. “It’s hard to pick just one, but if I had to choose, it would probably be ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen. I love the wit and intelligence of the characters, and the way the story critiques social norms.”

Wooyoung’s eyes lit up with interest. “That’s a great choice. I’ve heard a lot about it, but I’ve never actually read it. What do you like most about it?”

“It’s so many things,” you began, your excitement growing. “The main character, Elizabeth Bennet, is such a strong, independent woman, especially for her time. She’s smart, witty, and not afraid to speak her mind. And Mr. Darcy, well, he’s complex. At first, he seems arrogant and aloof, but as the story progresses, you see that he’s actually very kind and caring. Their dynamic is fascinating to me, and what I love most is their banter. The dialogue between them is so sharp and clever. They challenge each other, and through that, they grow as individuals. It’s not just a love story; it’s about personal growth and overcoming prejudices. Oh, not to mention, Elizabeth’s my favorite character from the book, too.”

Wooyoung pressed on further, his interest piqued. “What specifically draws you to her?”

“She’s such a remarkable character,” you said, your voice taking on a more reflective tone. “Elizabeth is not just intelligent and witty; she’s also incredibly perceptive and resilient. She navigates the rigid social structures of her time with a kind of grace and strength that’s really inspiring. She doesn’t let society dictate her choices, especially when it comes to marriage, which was a huge deal back then.”

Wooyoung nodded, clearly engrossed. “She sounds like someone worth admiring.”

“She really is,” you agreed. “What I find most compelling is her growth throughout the novel. She starts off with a lot of preconceived notions about people, particularly Darcy. But as the story progresses, she learns to look beyond her first impressions and recognizes her own faults and prejudices. It’s a humbling journey that makes her all the more relatable and admirable.”

“You see a lot of yourself in her, don’t you?” Wooyoung said, a gentle understanding in his eyes.

You paused, feeling a wave of vulnerability. “Yeah, I do. Elizabeth’s courage to speak her mind, her refusal to settle for anything less than what she deserves, and her ability to learn and grow from her mistakes... it all resonates with me deeply. I admire her character so much, and sometimes, I try to channel a bit of her strength in my own life.”

Wooyoung’s smile was warm and encouraging. “I think you’ve got a lot of that strength already. It’s clear just from talking to you.”

“Thanks,” you said, feeling a rush of gratitude. “It’s nice to talk about these things with someone who genuinely listens.”

“I’m really glad you shared that with me,” he said softly. “I can see why Elizabeth Bennet is your favorite. You’re really passionate about this book,” Wooyoung observed, his smile widening.

“I guess I am,” you admitted with a laugh. “I’ve read it so many times, and each time, I find something new to appreciate. Like how she subtly critiques the societal expectations placed on women, or how she portrays the complexity of human relationships. It’s brilliant.”

“Maybe I should give it a read sometime.” He stared above the ceiling and back into your eyes, a genuine haze wrapping itself around his eyes.

“You should,” you encouraged. “It’s more than just a romance novel. It’s a commentary on society, class, and the human condition. And it’s so well-written. Her use of irony and satire is masterful.”

“You’ve convinced me,” Wooyoung replied with a grin. “I’ll start reading that someday in the near future.”

“I think you’ll really enjoy it,” you said, feeling a warm sense of satisfaction. “And if you ever want to discuss it, I’m always here.”

“Deal,” he said, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “I’m looking forward to it.”

As the conversation progressed, you found yourself opening up more and more. Wooyoung’s genuine interest and warm presence made it easy to share parts of yourself you usually kept hidden. You talked about your love for music, your fondness for rainy days, and even your tendency to get lost in thought while daydreaming.

“You know, it’s really nice getting to know you like this,” Wooyoung said after a while. “You’re even more interesting than I already knew you were.”

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks. “It’s nice getting to know you too.”

As the date continued, you found yourself increasingly caught up in Wooyoung’s stories and laughter. He regaled you with tales from his college days, his animated expressions and infectious enthusiasm pulling you into his world. The way his eyes lit up with each memory, turning into joyful crescents as he laughed, made it hard not to get lost in the moment.

It was beautiful—he was beautiful.

But amidst the warmth and ease, a nagging doubt then began to creep into your mind. Was it really wise to let your feelings for Wooyoung develop, knowing the secret life you led? You were a spy, a covert operative whose existence was built on deception and danger. The thought of letting someone in, of allowing yourself to grow close to another person while harboring such a monumental secret, seemed almost reckless. Would it be safe to live under the roof of a house built in lies, knowing it is bound to fall?

Your thoughts wandered to the precarious balance you maintained every day. Your life was a constant dance on the edge of peril, where one wrong move could lead to complete catastrophe. Could you really afford to bring someone into that world, to risk their safety and well-being? The rational part of your mind screamed that it was impossible, that a relationship built on lies and half-truths could never truly flourish.

Yet, as Wooyoung shared a particularly hilarious memory involving a college prank gone wrong, you found yourself laughing along with him, the sound echoing warmly between you. His genuine joy, the way he seemed to find light in every situation, was like a stark contrast to your troubled thoughts. For a moment, the weight of your life lifted, replaced by the simple pleasure of being with him.

You watched him closely, taking in the way his eyes sparkled, his mouth curving into a grin that seemed to light up the entire room with ease. In that instant, all your worries and doubts seemed to fade into the background. It was as if his laughter had the power to push away the shadows that constantly loomed over you. You’d spent so much of your life calculating risks, planning every move with meticulous care. But here, with Wooyoung, it felt different. It felt right to let your guard down, if only for a little while, and enjoy the moments of happiness he brought into your life.

For once, it felt right to be wrong.

As his laughter subsided and he took a sip of his drink, you found yourself smiling more genuinely than you had in a long time. There was something about him that made you want to take that leap, to embrace the uncertainty and see where it led. You could hear the voice of reason in the back of your mind, cautioning you against it, but your heart was pushing you to choose to ignore it. Maybe this path was fraught with risks and uncertainties, but you were willing to take the chance. For now, you would let yourself be swept up in the joy and warmth that Wooyoung brought into your life. And maybe if you search hard enough, you could find a way to balance the shadows and the light, the secrets and the truths, in a way that allows you to truly live.

—

For the next few days, your life began to take on a new rhythm. Mornings once filled with solitude were now punctuated by Wooyoung’s cheerful presence. Each day, he would visit the library, transforming what used to be a quiet, routine part of your life into something vibrant and new. You had always seen the library as your sanctuary, a place where you could retreat from the chaos you’re bound to. But now, it was becoming a place where you felt truly alive, thanks to Wooyoung. You spent hours together, sharing stories, laughter, and a growing sense of connection. You learned that his sense of humor was more playful than what he’d let you on, often surprising you with his quirky questions and offbeat observations. He seemed to take genuine joy in making you laugh, and you found yourself looking forward to his visits more and more. It was during one of these conversations that you had mentioned, almost offhandedly, that you often skipped breakfast. It was just a passing comment, a small detail about your hectic mornings, but Wooyoung had latched onto it with surprising earnestness.

The next day, he showed up with a warm breakfast sandwich and a coffee, setting them on your desk with a grin. “You can’t start your day on an empty stomach,” he had said, his eyes sparkling with a mix of mischief and concern. It became a ritual after that, his daily offerings of breakfast a tangible reminder of his thoughtfulness. Over time, the simple gesture began to chip away at the walls you had built around yourself. You found yourself growing softer, more open, and warmer towards him, as if the barriers you had erected to protect yourself were finally starting to crumble.

As the days passed, you discovered more facets of Wooyoung’s personality. He had a quiet depth to him, a sensitivity that contrasted with his often boisterous demeanor. He spoke about his passions, his dreams, and his past with a sincerity that was both endearing and disarming. You found yourself sharing more about your own life, albeit carefully avoiding any details about your work as a secret agent. Still, in the moments you spent together, you felt a connection that was both profound and unsettling. You knew that you were treading dangerous ground, allowing yourself to care for someone when your life was so precariously balanced.

But then, reality intruded. The brief respite you had enjoyed came to an abrupt end as you found yourself back in the headquarters, in the sterile, impersonal confines of the meeting room. The transition from the warmth of Wooyoung's company to the cold efficiency of your workplace was jarring. Director Han greeted you with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, her tone deceptively casual as she welcomed you back.

“Did you spend your break time to its fullest?” she asked, her voice smooth and untroubled. It was ironic, almost infuriating, that she could speak to you so casually after the way she had dismissed the well-being of your fellow agents weeks ago. Her apparent indifference to their suffering had been a bitter pill to swallow, but you had learned not to expect anything different from the director board. You forced a positive response, careful not to reveal the real reason your break had been enjoyable.

“I did,” you replied, keeping your voice steady and professional.

“Good,” she continued. “Because from now on, no distractions shall be allowed to enter your line of sight.”

You narrowed your eyes, sensing the gravity of what was to come. “Why is that?” Your eyebrows furrowed lightly.

Director Liu stepped forward, her expression grim. “The Crimson Fox has his eyes on a new artifact,” she said, her voice laden with significance. “And this mystical property is of utmost importance. Its value surpasses anything he has targeted before.”

You crossed your arms, skepticism evident in your posture. “Mystical properties? Are we basing our mission on legends now?” you began, your voice rising with incredulity. “Forgive me, Director, but you have to admit, this sounds like a wild goose chase. First, it’s an old painting, then a compass, and now this? Why are we placing such high value on what seem to be random artifacts?”

Director Liu’s expression remained stoic, but you pressed on. “You’re coming off as suspiciously secretive. There’s a lack of transparency here, and I’m not comfortable with it. If there’s something about this artifact that’s critical, I need to know. Otherwise, I can’t accept this mission.”

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. The directors exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Director Kang spoke up, his tone conciliatory.

“The artifact in question is not just a relic. It’s a key component in a much larger puzzle, one that we’ve been trying to piece together for years. Its significance lies not only in its historical value but in its potential to unlock other, more powerful artifacts.”

You considered his words, your mind racing. “And you expect the Crimson Fox to know this? To understand its true value?”

Director Han nodded. “He’s always been one step ahead, understanding the deeper connections between these items. We believe he has access to information that we do not.”

You sighed, the pieces slowly falling into place. “Alright, but if you want me to risk my life for this, I need full disclosure. No more secrets.”

Director Liu’s eyes softened slightly. “You have our word. We’ll provide you with all the information we have.”

With that assurance, you shifted gears. “What are the risks involved in this mission?”

Director Kang’s expression grew serious. “The risks are considerable. The artifact is being kept in a high-security facility with state-of-the-art defenses. But the Crimson Fox has proven time and again that he can circumvent such measures. There’s also the risk of collateral damage. We can’t afford another incident like the last mission.”

You nodded, the memory of the previous mission's failure still fresh. “And you’re not planning on accompanying me with other agents again, are you? You know what happened last time.”

Director Han shook her head. “No. This time, you’ll be going alone. We can’t risk another failure.”

You hummed in thought. Well, at least they’re aware of the damage they caused. “I’ll do whatever it takes to stop him.”

Director Han’s smile was approving. “That’s the spirit we need. Now, let’s discuss the specifics.” Then, they began to outline the details of the operation, and you listened intently, asking pointed questions and clarifying key points.

“The artifact is housed in the Armitage Museum,” Director Kang started. “It’s a high-security facility with several layers of defense. Surveillance cameras, motion detectors, laser grids, and a rotating guard schedule.”

You leaned forward, absorbing the information. “What about the artifact’s location within the museum? Is it in a display case or a secured vault?”

“It’s in a secured vault in the basement,” Director Liu replied. “The vault itself has a biometric lock system, requiring both fingerprint and retinal scans.”

“Whose biometrics?” you asked, your mind already working on possible infiltration methods. “The museum director and head of security,” Director Han answered. “We have gathered some intel on their schedules, but gaining access to them will be tricky.”

“How exactly do you expect me to bypass all these security measures?” you questioned, your tone sharp. “And what about backup plans in case things go south?”

“We have a tech team working on a device to temporarily disable the security systems,” Director Kang said. “It will give you a window of approximately ten minutes to get in and out. As for backup plans, a secondary team will be on standby outside the museum, ready to intervene if necessary.”

You frowned. “Ten minutes isn’t much time. What if the Crimson Fox has already infiltrated the museum by then?”

“That’s a risk we have to take,” Director Liu admitted. “But our intel suggests he hasn’t made his move yet. He seems to be waiting for the right moment.”

“And you believe that moment is imminent?” you pressed, wanting to be sure.

Director Han nodded. “All signs point to it. We can’t afford to wait any longer.”

You took a deep breath, considering the gravity of the situation. “What about the museum’s guard schedule? Any gaps or vulnerabilities?”

Director Kang pulled up a digital layout of the museum, highlighting key areas. “The guards rotate every four hours. The weakest point is during the shift change, which happens at 2 AM. There’s a brief period of about ten minutes where the new shift is settling in and the old shift is wrapping up.”

You nodded, making mental notes. “So, we time our infiltration during the shift change. What about the museum director and head of security? Are they on-site during that time?”

“The head of security is on-site, but the museum director leaves around midnight,” Director Liu said. “We’ll need to find a way to access the director’s biometric data before he leaves.”

You pursed your lips, nodding slowly. “Alright. What about the Crimson Fox? Any recent intel on his whereabouts or movements?”

“We believe he’s been laying low, preparing for this heist," Director Liu replied. "But we have no concrete information on his exact location.”

“Great,” you muttered to yourself sarcastically. “So, we’re going in blind, hoping he doesn’t show up at the worst possible moment.”

“It’s a calculated risk,” Director Kang said, his tone firm. “But we have confidence in your abilities.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I’ll do it. But if things go sideways, I’m not taking the fall for this.”

“Understood,” Director Han said. “We’ll provide you with all the support you need." The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the upcoming mission settling over you. Despite the tension, you felt a familiar sense of determination. You had faced dangerous missions before, and you would face this one with the same resolve. As the meeting concluded, you gathered your materials and prepared to leave. The mission would take place tomorrow night, giving you just enough time to make the necessary preparations. You knew the risks were high, but you also knew that you were the best person for the job.

The day of the mission came quicker than you had expected, and today, you decided to spend your entire day in the headquarters training room. It had been a while since your last appearance on the scene, and you didn’t want to get too comfortable—especially not now, with Wooyoung unknowingly making you softer. As you warmed up, your muscles responded with a familiar ease, the rhythm of your movements a comforting reminder of the life you had chosen. This was your world, where precision and control reigned supreme. You moved to the climbing rig, scaling its heights with practiced agility. But then, unexpectedly, your hand slipped on a rung, and you plummeted to the ground, landing with a heavy thud. The impact jolted through you, making you hiss in pain. It was unfamiliar—usually, you never messed up like this.

Gritting your teeth, you pushed yourself back up. You couldn't afford to falter now, not with such a critical mission looming. But as you continued your training, your mind kept drifting to Wooyoung. His smile, his laugh, the way he looked at you with those bright, sincere eyes. You wondered, if you hadn't been dragged into the world of espionage, would you have been able to live a normal life with him? Would you have met him under different circumstances, where you were just a normal librarian without any lies to cover up? Would you be sitting across from him at a café, holding his hand instead of a training handlebar? In another reality, would your days be filled with mundane joys and quiet moments, rather than the constant threat of danger and deceit?

You tried to shake it off, but the questions persisted, echoing through your mind. Each time you lost focus, your balance wavered, and frustration mounted. You kicked the wall in anger, the sound reverberating through the empty training room. Sinking to the ground, you ran your hands through your hair, feeling the weight of your double life pressing down on you.

You got too carried away.

The line between your professional life and your personal desires blurred, leaving you vulnerable in a way you hadn’t anticipated. The stakes were too high for distractions, but the more you tried to push thoughts of Wooyoung aside, the more insistent they became. What would it be like to wake up each day without the looming specter of danger? To simply enjoy a quiet breakfast with him, without the burden of secrets hanging over your head? You imagined lazy Sunday mornings, his arm draped over your shoulders as you both laughed at something trivial on TV. The normalcy of it all seemed almost unattainable, a distant dream compared to the harsh reality you faced.

Your training session deteriorated into a series of missteps and missed cues. Each failure added to your frustration, culminating in a moment of sheer exasperation. You kicked the wall again, harder this time, before collapsing against it, breathing heavily. The training room, once a place of focus and discipline, now felt suffocating. You let your thoughts wander freely, for just a moment longer. Perhaps in a different life, Wooyoung would be waiting for you at home, a comforting presence after a long day. Maybe you would have shared stories about your days, him talking about his friends and his life, while you shared anecdotes from the library. The mundane yet beautiful simplicity of it all was both a solace and a torment.

But this was your reality. You were a secret agent, and tonight, you had a mission to complete. The risks were too great, and the stakes too high, to indulge in fantasies of what could have been. With a deep breath, you pushed yourself off the ground, determination hardening your resolve. You couldn’t afford to let your emotions get the best of you. Not now. Not when the Crimson Fox was still out there, waiting for the right moment to strike. You had a job to do, and no matter how much you wished for a different life, this was the path you had chosen.

Standing up, you squared your shoulders and resumed your training with renewed focus. The thoughts of Wooyoung lingered, but you forced them to the back of your mind. There would be time to sort through your feelings later. For now, you needed to be at your best. The hours ticked by, each one bringing you closer to the mission.

After concluding your training session, you decide to make a quick stop at the bathroom to wash your face and clean yourself up. The training session had left you sweaty and disheveled, and you needed a moment to compose yourself. As you walk down the corridor, you pass by the storage room where they kept broken training equipment. The door is slightly ajar, and you catch the sound of hushed whispers. Curiosity piqued, you slow your pace, straining to hear the conversation. One voice is male, the other female, both speaking in low tones that suggest secrecy.

“Are you sure this is the right time for it?” the male voice asks, sounding nervous.

“We don’t have a choice,” the female voice replies, more assertive. “Everything’s in place. We need to act before it’s too late.”

“But what if someone finds out? The consequences—”

“Keep your voice down,” she hisses. “No one can know. Especially not her.” Your heart skips a beat. Who were they talking about? And what was this plan they were so secretive about? Your mind races with possibilities, but you know better than to jump to conclusions without more information.

Just then, you hear footsteps approaching from a distance. Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, you quickly move away from the storage room and head to the bathroom. Once inside, you lean against the sink, letting the cold water wash over your face as you process what you just heard. Why were they talking about that? What could they be planning? And who were they referring to when they said “her”? You know the headquarters well enough to recognize that not everyone can be trusted, but this conversation feels particularly sinister.

As you dry your face, your thoughts swirl with suspicion. You couldn't afford to ignore this. But confronting them directly without evidence could jeopardize everything. You needed to tread carefully and keep an eye out for any further signs of shady activity. Finishing up, you take a deep breath and straighten your posture. With your mind now sharpened by both the day’s training and this unexpected encounter, you make your way to the briefing room, ready to face the mission ahead. But in the back of your mind, the conversation lingers, a shadow that you can't shake off—yet you force them into the back of your mind, as there’s a mission to be done, and distractions could be fatal. The director board goes over their initial plan, and you sense they are putting more effort into this than the last few attempts to capture the Crimson Fox.

You arrive at the museum entrance, immediately checking the security cameras by the door. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you saw that all of them were broken, yet the sight inside the museum was what surprised you even more. The security guards were all lying unconscious on the floor, every security system is disabled, and the lights were off. The only illumination comes from the dim glow of the moon passing through the windows. You move cautiously, noting that every guard and system is down, which is unprecedented.

When you reach the large room housing the vault where the artifact is kept, you’re surprised to find the vault open, yet the artifact is still inside. You take your first step towards it when you sense a presence above. You quickly turn and grab the foot aiming for your face before it can make contact.

“Agent,” he starts, his voice smooth and mocking. “How nice to see you again.”

“You seem to have gone through a lot of trouble to get here tonight,” you note, glancing at the unconscious guards. “What’s your endgame?”

The Crimson Fox chuckles softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “My endgame? I think you already know. But the real question is, what’s yours?”

“Saving the artifact from your hands,” you retort, tightening your grip on his foot before releasing it, forcing him to backflip away from you.

He lands gracefully, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “And why do you care so much about this artifact? Do you even know what it truly is?”

“I know it’s important to the organization,” you reply, keeping your voice firm. “Important to the organization,” he echoes, a hint of derision in his tone. “But why? Have you ever asked yourself that? Why would they value something that, to everyone else, seems insignificant?”

You hesitate, and he catches it. “You’re starting to wonder, aren’t you?” he continues, stepping closer. “Starting to see the cracks in the façade. Tell me, why would they go to such lengths to protect this? What are they hiding?”

His words leave you pondering, but you refuse to show it. “You talk a lot for someone who’s about to lose.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says, his tone almost playful. “But deep down, you know I’m right. You’ve seen enough to question them. To doubt.”

“Why do you care what I think?” you taunt, genuinely curious now. “Why are you trying so hard to make me doubt them?”

“Because,” he says, his voice softening just a fraction yet still deceiving, “I see potential in you. It’s just… misdirected.”

His words make you pause. “You don’t know me.”

“Maybe not,” he admits. “But I know enough. And I know you’re not blind. You can see the truth if you look hard enough.”

“And what truth is that?” you challenge, your heart pounding. He smiles, but it’s devoid of positivity. He then responds, “That’s for you to find out. But first, you have to want to know.”

“Do you?”

His question hangs in the air, heavy with implication. You’re at a crossroads, and you know it. The choice you make now could change everything. You stare at him, your mind racing. He’s given you a choice, a chance to see things differently. And for the first time, you’re not sure which path to take.

The fight then begins, and unlike the other battles you had with him that were more reckless, more about testing which of you was more skilled, this one felt different. There was an intensity, but also a strange harmony to your movements. Each strike, each block, each dodge—everything flowed seamlessly as if you were engaged in a violent dance, perfectly in sync.

It was a depiction of brutal beauty, a choreography of combat. Every step was calculated, every move met with a precise counter. The sound of your bodies colliding, the whisper of fabric, the heavy breaths—it all combined into a symphony of motion and energy. It was as if time slowed down, the world narrowing to just the two of you, locked in a battle that was as much about understanding as it was about defeating.

He lunged at you with a swift kick, and you dodged with a grace that matched his own, retaliating with a high kick that he barely managed to block. You spun, he ducked, you struck again, he parried. The fight was a dance where your movements entwined in a deadly ballet. There were no words exchanged, just the raw, primal communication of bodies in motion, testing each other’s limits.

Finally, you saw an opening. With a swift move, you caught him off guard, pinning him to the ground on his back. Knees on either side of his torso, you held both of his arms above his head with one hand, the other drawing a dagger from your pocket. You used it to lift up his mask and remove it.

The sight that met you filled you with utmost shock and a mixture of everything all at once.

“Wooyoung...?”

🪞— lividstar.

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ Masterpost

៚ wc: ✍️

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ To hope for a miracle while standing still and not doing anything to initiate any form of change is just about as foolish as avoiding the gaze of your phone screen while waiting for an app to download thinking such an action would make the waiting process any shorter. Upon learning this portion of the reality of life, you decide to break free from the confines of your hometown and move to Paris in hopes of a new season of your life unfolding. What’s un(fortunate) is you weren’t expecting your designated miracle to come in the form of a fashion designer named Kim Hongjoong.

started: june 30, 2024 | finished: ongoing

Chapter One: A Change (wc: 9k)

🍂 Moving to Paris in order to leave your past in Arcadia Bay had been a long-term goal for a while now, and you were more than excited to finally have this dream of yours within your grasp. Of course, things won’t always turn out well consistently, and you had to be reminded of this in the worst way possible.

Chapter Two: Unexpected Encounters (wc: 8k)

🍂 You were now on your fifth job hunt for the week, and even though you were hoping for it to, for once, actually turn out to be a success, indifference spreads through you as the search concludes on a dead end once again. Just as you were about to head home, a sudden surprise catches up to you, nearly out of breath.

Chapter Three: Inspiration (wc: 4k)

🍂 The thought of entering the world of fashion and modeling seemed daunting, but you’d rather have your suffering come from getting perceived than not having at least a sufficient amount of money to make sure your last days won’t be spent in Paris. Looking through the stolen-but-not-really sketchbook in your possession for outfit inspiration, you’re caught in a state of shock when something you thought had finally left you behind suddenly came back to bite you. One question hung heavy in your mind: Why?

Chapter Four: A Pleasant Twist (wc: 5k)

🍂 What started as a plan for a quiet walk in the park quickly turned eventful when you bumped into Madame Dupont, who was heading out for groceries. Choosing to assist her instead, two occurrences you didn’t see coming saw the light of the day: A. Running into Seonghwa, and B. Receiving an offer from Madame Dupont to help with your upcoming casting.

Chapter Five: Consequences (wc: 8k)

🍂 During the high-stakes fashion casting, you impress the judges but are later alarmed to discover that the agency’s influential creative director is the owner of the sketchbook that not only did you accidentally take home, yet also used one of its designs as inspiration for your attire, leaving you fearful about the potential consequences for your budding career. As the weight of this realization sinks in, you can't help but worry how you would entangle the knots of the predicament you’re now under.

Chapter Six: A New Companion (wc: 5k)

🍂 The tension mounts as you anxiously await a message from the directors. A call from Seonghwa bringing you the not-so-good news of you passing the first round of the casting brings mixed emotions, and a walk in the park offers a brief escape from your spiraling worries. Returning home, you find comfort in the unexpected presence of Pompidou, Monsieur Frank’s mischievous feline. As the day of the callback arrives, the pressure intensifies, culminating in a nerve-wracking evaluation before Hongjoong and the casting panel.

Chapter Seven: Resolve (wc: 12.1k)

🍂 Seonghwa invites you to the serene local park where he delivers the exciting news that you’ve secured the modeling job, marking a significant step forward in your new life in Paris. However, as you bask in the joy of this achievement, a nagging concern about Hongjoong’s sketchbook lingers in your mind. By the time you get your first modeling gig, you form a plan to return it to him on the very same day, but the uncertainty of how he will react keeps you on edge. Could things possibly get any worse than they already are?

Chapter Eight: A Great Friend (wc: 11.5k)

🍂 Your day immediately turns eventful at the very second you open your eyes, receiving a congratulatory message from Hongjoong which was apparently because of your sudden popularity that skyrocketed overnight, following your first photoshoot. As you grapple with this sudden surge of attention, Seonghwa offers a welcome distraction by suggesting you assist Hongjoong with his designs for the upcoming autumn collection, all of which are still in progress.

Chapter Nine: May I Have This Dance? (wc: 10.3k)

🍂 The initial plan was to stay the night in Hongjoong’s art studio to finish one of his designs, but as one thread tangled itself into another and kept the chain going, a series of unexpectedly charming experiences began to unfold, one of which contains running an errand to buy flowers for Madame Dupont’s vases—the very event that led to you and Hongjoong enjoying a little sophisticated dancing session while moving to the soft melody of La Vie En Rose.

Chapter Ten: Push and Pull (wc: 4.6k)

🍂 The memory of what happened—or what had almost happened last night, still remained fresh in your mind. As a result, you find yourself on edge as you head to Hongjoong’s agency per Seonghwa’s request, still processing the events that had unfurled. Upon arrival, you notice Hongjoong acting distant, leaving you uneasy. Seonghwa, sensing your discomfort, tries to lighten the mood and catch up, but the tension lingers in your mind as you try to make sense of Hongjoong's sudden change in behavior.

Chapter Eleven: You Wonder why I’m Bitter (wc: 8.2k)

🍂 Alone and aching for the connection that once felt so natural, you reluctantly turn to an unlikely companion: Pompidou, who listens to you pour out all the longing you’ve fought so hard to bury. While you grapple with the emptiness left by Hongjoong’s sudden withdrawal, he, too, finds himself lost, wrestling with the very feelings he’s tried to deny. Haunted by memories and choices he can’t quite reconcile, Hongjoong is caught between the familiarity of the past and the confusing reality of the present.

🪞 — lividstar.

[lividstar]

🪐 — ♡ FROM SATURN TO MARS

៚ wc: 24.2k

៚ angst, fluff but not really, astronomer!san x stargazer!reader, star-crossed lovers, right person, wrong time, san is literally “☝️🤓” personified but it’s alright because he’s a sweetheart

៚ warnings: mentions of suic!de

៚ playlist !

៚ Life has always felt like a constant struggle for you, burdened by the weight of a terminal illness that looms over every moment. The concept of finding peace, of unwinding, seems as foreign as the distant stars. Each attempt to embrace the fleeting joys of life feels like an effort wasted, as the ever-present shadow of your inevitable end dims any flicker of hope. Despite countless reassurances that it’s worth trying to find solace, the reality is that the pain and fear remain ablaze. Living each day with the knowledge of your limited time, you’ve tried to hold onto the present, to ignite a spark of hope in the face of despair. But unlike others who find motivation in the idea of living life to the fullest, the idea only brings you more anguish. Every attempt to seek positivity feels hollow and unreachable when every breath is a reminder of what you're losing. Little did you know how much your world would change when you meet Choi San, an aspiring astronomer who just happens to be a boy full of wonders—ones you’ve always believed have already ceased to exist.

Dreams come in different forms and can mean a lot of things.

Dreams can be a fleeting memory playing throughout your unconsciousness, and it could be a reminder of what once was—a moment from your childhood wherein your feet are dragging you at a fast pace around the playground, crumbs of the sand slowly invading your shoes as you turn your head behind to check if the distance between you and your playmate is closing further, flashing them a teasing look with a huge smile on your face—ending just before the moment you trip on your own feet and wail over a dark bruise on your knee.

It could also convey a wish that you yearn to come true, a thread high up in the air that you desperately want to have a grasp of and pull down on your level. It could be an ambition that you want to achieve, an activity you wish to participate in in the near future, a famous attraction you dream of visiting one day—simply put, saying you have a dream could convey different implications.

But amidst its vast sea of meanings, we all, at some point, have, or have had a dream in common: to live a life different from our own.

Maybe it hits you when you’re standing on the second highest pillar of the podium, holding your silver medal while the one at the very top shamelessly dangles their gold prize with a bouquet in their hands. Maybe it hits you when you pass by a section of a mall featuring expensive artifacts and seeing people your age walk through the aisles so easily as if it’s not a new thing to them. Maybe it hits you when you look in the mirror after scrolling past the page of an influencer considered by the masses as the embodiment of beauty.

Or maybe it hits you every single time you realize you’re alone in the battle against you and the fate of your life.

You were born with a shadow hanging over your life, a rare, incurable illness that marked you from your very first breath. From the moment you entered the world, doctors surrounded you with words like “degenerative,” “terminal,” and “limited time,” their clinical detachment doing little to soften the blow. For your parents, it was a devastating revelation, turning what should have been a joyous occasion into a lifelong struggle against an invisible enemy.

As a child, you didn’t fully understand the weight of your condition. You grew up watching other children run and play, while you sat on the sidelines, your body betraying you in ways their carefree laughter could never comprehend. Frequent hospital visits and endless medical tests became the norm, each one a stark reminder of the battle raging within you. The disease, a silent thief, slowly sapped your strength and vitality, leaving you more fragile with each passing year.

Your family wrapped you in love and support, their concern palpable in every gentle touch and soft-spoken word. Yet, despite their efforts, the isolation was inescapable. Friends drifted away, unable to understand your world of limitations and restrictions. The future that once seemed bright and boundless was now a narrow path, shadowed by the inevitability of your illness.

Growing up, you learned to withdraw yourself from the world, seeking refuge in the confines of your room. The outside world, with its boundless energy and endless possibilities, felt like a mocking contrast to your shrinking existence. Even the well-meaning efforts of your family to uplift your spirits felt like hollow gestures, incapable of penetrating the thick fog of despair that seems to love embracing you. Optimism now seems pathetic for you to have—like a distant memory, a relic of a past life now unreachable.

“Have you heard about the upcoming meteor shower next week?” Your father’s voice cuts through the fog of your thoughts, drawing your attention back to the present. You glance up from the book you’re reading, curiosity piqued.

“Oh...?” You manage to respond, the word hanging in the air like a broken bridge between your world and theirs.

“I saw it on today’s news headline. Thought I’d break the news to you since you love those kinds of things,” he says, passing by the couch where you sat and ruffling your hair lightly.

That’s right.

The night sky, vast and unending, was your sanctuary. In the quiet hours when the world is quiet in a deep slumber, you’d find a profound sense of peace under its sprawling canopy. The stars, scattered like shimmering diamonds across the pitch black sky, spoke to you in a language that exceeds even the deepest of words. You felt a kinship with these distant suns, their light traveling across the eons to reach you, a solitary observer. Their constancy provided a stark contrast to the unpredictable ebb and flow of your life. While your body betrayed you, the stars remained steadfast, their glow unchanging and eternal. It was this constancy that you clung to, a fading glimmer of hope in your darkest hours.

Each night, you would sit by the window, wrapped in a blanket, eyes scanning the heavens for familiar patterns and new discoveries. The cool night air would brush against your skin, a gentle reminder of the world beyond your room, while the silence enveloped you in a cocoon of temporary peace.

During these moments, you’d feel a connection to something greater than yourself. The stars were not just distant balls of burning gas; they were ancient, ethereal, and eternal. They had witnessed the birth and death of galaxies, the rise and fall of civilizations. In their presence, your own life, with all its pain and brevity, seemed part of a larger image you could never be able to picture. You were all but a small thread in its grand design, and in a way, you’ve grown to find comfort in that knowledge.

The moon, in its phases, has become a symbol of your journey. Waxing and waning, it mirrored your own cycles of hope and despair. When it was full, you felt a surge of strength, a fleeting belief that perhaps you could overcome the odds. When it was new, you were reminded of the darkness that loomed, but also of the promise that light would return.

In the solitude of these nights, you allowed yourself to dream. Not of a future filled with pain and uncertainty, but of other worlds and possibilities. You imagined traveling among the stars, free from the confines of your ailing body. You pictured yourself as an explorer, charting the galaxies, uncovering the secrets of the universe. These dreams, though unrealistic, gave you a sense of purpose, a brief escape from the harsh reality you faced.

Your mother joins in on the conversation, momentarily placing the knife down on the cutting board as she peeked in the living room from where she stood in the kitchen. “I know an observatory somewhere in this town. If you want, I could take you there. It would be beautiful—the place would provide you a clear view of the night sky.” She smiles, waiting for your nod of agreement.

And when it didn’t come as she anticipated, she decided to walk around the kitchen corner, making a beeline to where you sat on the couch with a pillow placed on top of your crossed legs. The cushion beside you sinks as she occupies it, reaching for your hand settled down on the pillow to caress the back of it gently with her mildly calloused fingers.

“We don’t know for sure when the next meteor shower will occur, and… there’s not much time left,” your mother whispers hesitantly, and despite being certain that you’ve already gone numb, the look in her eyes initiates a crack in your heart.

“I know you hate the thought of going outside, but I don’t want you to miss out on this opportunity. Remember when you used to bug me everyday to make a meteor shower happen after I read a book about it to you?” she brings up a distant memory, and you find yourself traveling back in time to recall it.

Back then, when you were just a carefree child with no worries, still unaware of the cruelty that resides in the real world, you genuinely believed your mother was powerful enough to be capable of making a meteor shower occur.

Since you’ve always held fondness of the stars and so much so of your mother, you always saw her as some sort of a hero of high authority, sometimes even calling her ‘Deity of the Stars’ and making poorly drawn colored sketches of her in what you liked to call her hero suit. You swore it was realistic and highly possible back then, but now, you could no longer see it as anything more than a ridiculous superficial thought.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I did that…” you trailed off blankly, erupting a soft fit of laughter from your mother.

“Well, you were young. It was bound to happen. But anyway,” she shifted in her seat, holding your hand just a little tighter now. “Stargazing became your favorite thing to do after finding out about meteor showers, so… I think it would be nice to revisit a fragment of your childhood, won’t it?”

You stared into the void of nothingness, momentarily zoning out to consider your mother’s words. She was right, so right you couldn’t even bring yourself to be pessimistic and wish she wasn’t.

“I just… I want you to at least feel happiness again while we still have time left, and watching the meteor shower would be a good kick-start for that,” she said, and you gently tighten your grasp on her hand as well. If only you could yearn for your own happiness as much as she does for you.

Finally, you looked right into her eyes. “Okay,” you nod, the single word carrying the weight of your acceptance.

Your mother’s face lights up with a mixture of relief and sadness. “Great! Great, I… I can’t wait to take you there,” she beams with a shaky voice, and despite the wide smile on her lips, there were still tears falling down her eyes. She looks away as she attempts to wipe them out, and it shatters your heart even more.

Taking the pillow off your lap and placing it on the empty spot on your other side, you lean forward to engulf her in a heartfelt embrace, and she doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around you as well. She buries her face in your neck, the fabric of your shirt muffling her sobs of joy. You swore you had already gone numb, but this time, you feel a stray tear slowly fall down the skin of your face.

If you couldn’t bring yourself to experience the wonders of life for your own sake, then you’d do it for your parents.

—

The night before the meteor shower enveloped you in an eerie stillness, as if the world itself was holding its breath. You found yourself once again at the window, gazing out at the vast, star-speckled sky. The room was bathed in the faint glow of moonlight, casting a dim, silvery glow over everything. Outside, the symphony of crickets serenaded the night, their rhythmic chirping mingling with the soft hum of your room’s air conditioner. Occasionally, the rustling of your blanket as you shifted ever so slightly, trying to battle the cold evening air, broke the quiet atmosphere.

Whenever you’d find yourself in this scenario, looking up at the stars as their light glimmered and pierced through the inky darkness, a profound sense of calm would usually settle over you. The night sky had always been your refuge, a place where you could escape the harsh reality of your existence.

But tonight… tonight was different.

A heavy gloom began to seep into your thoughts, spreading through you like the thick ink of a quill spreading through a blank white paper. The beauty of the stars, which once brought solace, now seemed to mock your suffering. A wave of despair crashed over you, and your mind wandered to the inevitable end that awaited you.

The thought of your impending death hung over you like a dark cloud, casting a pall over the fleeting moments of joy you managed to grasp. It felt so unfair—so profoundly unjust—that your life had to be this way. You had dreams, aspirations, and desires just like anyone else, but they were perpetually out of reach, caged by the bars of your illness.

Why does it have to be this way? Why was such a cruel fate destined to be bound to you? It’s not like you asked to be born with such a disease—it’s not like you asked to be born. Everything that has ever happened to you your entire life has been against your will. For all the years you’ve spent in this world, you weren’t living—you were surviving.

You sighed, a deep, weary sound that seemed to echo in the silence of your room. The stars twinkled back at you, distant and untouchable. Your heart ached with the weight of your reality. How could you ever feel genuine happiness knowing that every moment was borrowed, that every smile was tinged with the bitterness of impermanence? The thought of letting go of everything you held dear gnawed at you relentlessly. It was a cruel joke, this life of yours, filled with fleeting moments of beauty overshadowed by an ever-present sense of doom.

Your thoughts then drifted to your parents. The sacrifices they had made, the countless nights they spent worrying about you, and the mountains of medical bills they had to pay—all of it weighed heavily on your conscience. You felt like a burden, an anchor dragging them down into an abyss of despair and financial ruin.

You leaned your forehead against the cool glass of the window, the weight of your guilt pressing down on you like a physical burden. It was a familiar feeling, one that had become an unwelcome companion over the years. The self-blame gnawed at you relentlessly, a persistent whisper in the back of your mind, telling you that you were the cause of all this pain.

This is all your fault.

This is all your fault.

This is all your fault.

Your thoughts eventually spiraled into a darker territory. If only you could just die sooner, you mused bitterly, then your parents wouldn’t have to endure this endless cycle of hope and despair. They could finally be free from the financial strain, the emotional turmoil, the constant fear of losing you. You envisioned them laughing together, their faces free from the lines of worry that had become so deeply etched into their features. They deserved that happiness, and you felt like you were stealing it from them.

It was so, so unfair on their behalf. All they ever wanted was to have a happy family—and then you let out your first breath and ruined everything.

The guilt was suffocating. It wrapped around your heart like a snake to its victim, squeezing tighter with each passing moment. You felt like a burden, a weight that your family had to carry, dragging them down with you into the bottom of the pit. The treatments, the surgeries, the endless doctor visits—they all felt like futile attempts to hold back the inevitable. And with each one, you saw the toll it took on your parents, the way their shoulders sagged a little more, their smiles became a little more forced.

You hated yourself for it. You hated that you were the cause of their suffering. You hated that you couldn’t be the healthy, carefree child they deserved. The resentment you felt towards your own body was a constant undercurrent, a bitter poison that tainted every moment of your life. How could you ever bring yourself to feel happy when your very existence seemed to be the source of so much pain?

The stars outside your window blurred as tears filled your eyes. You blinked them away, but they kept coming, hot and insistent. The enormity of your guilt was overwhelming, an ocean that would haunt you almost every single day. You wished, more than anything, that you could be someone else—someone who could bring joy instead of sorrow, hope instead of despair.

But you weren’t. You were trapped in this failing body, watching as your parents’ lives were consumed by your illness. The knowledge that you were the cause of their suffering was a wound that never healed, a constant ache that you carried with you every day. And it made the prospect of finding happiness feel impossible, a distant dream that you could never reach.

You clenched your fists, the frustration and anger boiling up inside you. Why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t you be normal, healthy, free? The unfairness of it all was like a knife twisting in your gut, sharp and fresh as it draws blood from your insides. You didn’t ask for this life, this body, this fate. And yet, you were the one who had to live it, the one who had to endure it all because it’s the only thing you can do.

You longed desperately for a sign, something to tell you that there was a reason to keep going. You searched the night sky for it, hoping that maybe the stars, your silent companions, would offer you some form of guidance or comfort. But they remained silent, providing no answers to the questions that have been disturbing your mind.

Oftentimes, you found yourself wondering why you were still holding on. Why not just let go, end the suffering now? The thought of slipping away, of finding peace in the nothingness, was a tempting escape. What was the point of all this suffering? Why continue to drag yourself through each day when the end was inevitable and so painfully near?

But then, once more, you thought of your parents. The image of their faces, worn with worry and exhaustion, flashed before your eyes. They have sacrificed so much for you—time, money, their own happiness—all in the hope of giving you a chance at life. You couldn’t bear the thought of their sacrifices being in vain. You couldn’t stand the idea of their grief and guilt if you gave up now.

It was this thought, more than anything else, that kept your will to stay in this world going. You didn’t want their efforts to be wasted, didn’t want the countless hours spent in hospitals and the endless piles of medical bills to be for nothing. Their love for you was evident in every exhausted smile, every gentle touch, every whispered word of encouragement. You couldn’t repay them by giving up.

You needed a sign, something to break through the darkness and give you a reason to keep going. You needed to believe that there was more to life than this endless suffering, that there was still something worth fighting for. But each day that passed without such a sign left you feeling more hopeless, more resigned to your fate.

The thought of the upcoming meteor shower lingered in your mind. Perhaps, just perhaps, it would provide the solace you so desperately craved. Maybe standing beneath the falling stars would bring you a sense of peace, a glimpse of the beauty that still existed in the world despite your pain.

Maybe there, you’d find the sign you’ve been helplessly looking for, a reason to hold on for just a little longer.

—

You wake up in the afternoon, the sunlight passing softly through your bedroom curtains, painting gentle shadows on the walls. Stretching, you slowly make your way to the living room, drawn by the sounds of clinking pots and the savory aroma wafting from the kitchen. As you enter, you see your parents in the kitchen, working together as they prepare what seems to be an extravagant feast.

“Mom? Dad?” you call out, your voice slightly raspy from sleep.

They turn their heads toward you, their faces lighting up with warm smiles. But their expressions quickly shift to concern as they notice your puffy eyes, the lingering evidence of last night’s tears.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, trying to mask your emotions.

Your father steps out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He walks over to you, his eyes filled with gentle worry. “Were you crying last night?” he asks softly, his voice a tender blend of concern and love.

You shake your head quickly, turning his words down. “No, no, I’m fine. I just… overslept, that’s probably why my eyes are puffy.” The lie feels heavy on your tongue, but you can’t bear to add to their worries.

Your father doesn’t push further, though it’s clear he doesn’t believe you. Instead, he switches the topic, his tone turning lighter. “We’re cooking up quite a feast today. Your mom got a little carried away, I think,” he says with a chuckle.

You glance over at the kitchen, the counters filled with various ingredients and dishes in different stages of preparation. “What’s all this for?” you ask, puzzled.

Your mother turns from the stove, her face bright with a mixture of excitement and something deeper, something sadder. “Today’s a big day for you, since you’ll be going out tonight,” she says, her eyes shining. “We couldn’t help but get a little excited and maybe go a bit overboard.”

You furrow your brow, confused. “Why? I know there’s a meteor shower, but what’s so special about me watching it?”

Your parents exchange a glance, a silent conversation passing between them, filled with unspoken words and shared sorrow. Your mother turns off the stove and walks over to you, her expression softening with a bittersweet smile. She reaches out and takes your hands in hers, leading you to the couch where the three of you sit down together.

“Honey,” she begins, her voice gentle but firm, “we know how hard things have been for you. And we know how much you love the stars. This meteor shower… it’s not just any event. It’s something special, something that we hope will bring you a bit of joy, even if just for a moment.”

Your father nods, his eyes glistening with emotions. “We wanted to make today special for you because… because we love you. We want you to have something to hold onto, a memory that’s beautiful and bright, like the stars you love so much.”

Your mother squeezes your hands, her eyes searching yours. “You’ve been so strong, so brave. We see how much you’re hurting, and we just want to give you a piece of happiness, something that can shine through the darkness.”

Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to spill over. “But… why go through all this trouble?” you ask, your voice slightly shaking.

Your mother flashes you a gentle smile. “Because you, my dear, mean the world to us. If doing all this could potentially be a way to help you find the light inside of you, then it’s not something we’ll deem troublesome at all.”

Your father wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a comforting embrace. “You’re not alone in this, sweetheart. We’re here with you, every step of the way. And tonight, we want to share the magic of the stars with you, to remind you that there’s still beauty and wonder in the world, no matter how hard things get.”

The weight of their words settles over you, a mixture of overwhelming love and a deep, aching sadness. You feel their sincerity, their desire to give you something beautiful, something that transcends the pain. And in that moment, you realize that this night, this meteor shower, is more than just an event. It’s a symbol of their unending love, their hope, and their determination to make your life a little brighter, even if only for a short while.

When you’re all finally seated at the dining table, the array of dishes laid out before you, there’s a tangible air of celebration mixed with a touch of melancholy. The scents of home-cooked food fill the room, and your parents’ faces are illuminated by the soft, warm glow of the overhead light.

As you begin to eat, the conversation flows naturally at first, revolving around the familiar comfort of family and the minutiae of daily life. But soon, your parents gently steer the discussion toward the evening ahead.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” your father asks, his tone light and casual, though his eyes are watchful.

You look up from your plate, feeling the weight of their expectations. “Just watching the meteor shower, I guess,” you say before turning your attention back on slicing the steak laid out in front of you, your voice steady but devoid of enthusiasm.

Your mother leans forward slightly, a hopeful smile on her face. “Maybe after we watch the meteor shower, we could stop by that new fast-food restaurant that opened last month. I hear their milkshakes are amazing.”

You offer a small, polite smile in return, shaking your head. “I think I’ll stick to just watching the meteor shower tonight.”

There’s a brief silence, the only sounds coming from the clinking of silverware against plates and the faint hum of the refrigerator. Your parents exchange a glance, their faces reflecting a mix of disappointment and understanding.

Your father tries again, his voice gentle. “Or we could swing by the mall for a little while. They’ve decorated for the season, and it might be nice to walk around, maybe do some window shopping.”

You feel the sincerity in his words, the genuine desire to make your evening special. But for now, the thought of venturing beyond the observatory, of facing the bustling energy of the outside world, feels overwhelming.

“Thanks, Dad,” you reply, your tone soft but firm. “But really, just the meteor shower is enough for me.”

Your mother reaches across the table, her hand covering yours. “We understand,” she says, her voice filled with a mixture of love and sorrow. “Baby steps, right?”

You nod, grateful for her understanding. “Yeah… baby steps.”

They continue to eat, the conversation shifting back to more mundane topics, but the undercurrent of their hopes for you lingers in the air. They don’t press further, recognizing that perhaps tonight, simply watching the meteor shower is as much as you can manage. Their sadness is evident, but it’s tempered by their acceptance, their willingness to let you take things at your own pace.

When the night falls, the air is filled with a sense of anticipation as the three of you prepare for the journey to the observatory. You find yourself in your room, standing before the wardrobe that holds the outdoor clothes your parents have bought for you throughout the years. Clothes that, for the most part, have only seen the light of day during hospital visits for your monthly checkups.

You reach for a long, dirty white dress adorned with a delicate pattern of tiny roses. It’s simple, yet beautiful—a piece that speaks to the girl you wish you could be, one full of dreams and wonder. You pair it with a dark red knitted cardigan, the warm hue adding a touch of vibrancy to your outfit. A pair of shoes, carefully chosen to match, complete your ensemble.

Deciding to fix yourself up a little, you apply a light amount of makeup. As you gaze at your reflection in the mirror, you’re struck by a strange mix of emotions. There’s a hint of the person you could have been, the life you might have led.

As if on cue, there’s a soft knock on your door. “Are you finished preparing?” your mother’s voice calls from the hallway.

“You can come in,” you reply, turning to face the door. And when she enters, she’s nearly brought to tears at the sight of you.

“You look so beautiful,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. She crosses the room in a few quick strides, enveloping you in a warm, heartfelt embrace. Though you’re confused by the intensity of her reaction, you hug her back, your arms wrapping around her with equal tenderness.

When she finally pulls away, she cups your face in her hands, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’m so, so, so proud of you,” she says, her voice trembling with sincerity.

You offer her a small, genuine smile, your hands reaching up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. “Thanks, Mom.”

Together, you make your way downstairs. Your father is waiting on the couch, his eyes lighting up when he sees you. “You look amazing,” he says, his voice filled with genuine awe. He stands and wraps you in a hug as well, his embrace warm and reassuring.

They really do love you dearly, and it makes your heart swell with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. It’s moments like these that remind you of the depth of their love, their unwavering support despite the countless hardships they have to face.

Soon, you’re all in your father’s car, the engine purring as you set off towards the observatory. The drive is serene, the world outside bathed in the soft glow of streetlights and the distant shimmer of stars. Your parents, sensing your nervousness, try to distract you with gentle conversation.

“Did you know that the observatory was built over a hundred years ago?” your dad asks, his tone light and engaging. “It’s seen countless meteor showers and celestial events. It’s almost like it has a history of its own.”

“Really?” you reply, your curiosity piqued. “That’s interesting.”

Your mom chimes in, her voice soft and soothing. “I read somewhere that watching a meteor shower is supposed to bring good luck. Maybe tonight will bring something special for all of us.”

You nod, giving her a small smile. Their efforts to lighten your mood are not lost on you, and though the anxiety still lingers, you feel a bit more at ease.

As the car winds its way through the darkened roads, you find yourself staring out the window, the stars above a silent reminder of the night ahead. You cling to the hope that this evening, beneath the vast expanse of the sky, something will shift—perhaps the night will end with you finally having a reason to hold on just a little longer.

When you finally arrive, you see the observatory perched in the middle of a grassy field atop a hill. The area around it is alive with people setting up blankets, reclining lawn chairs, and chatting as they wait for the meteor shower to begin. Some have chosen to stay inside the observatory, where telescopes and guided explanations promise a closer look at the sky.

You and your parents head towards the observatory, but something inside you makes you hesitate. The idea of watching the meteor shower while lying on the grass, feeling the earth beneath you and the sky above, seems more intimate and appealing.

“I think I’d like to watch it from here,” you tell your parents, glancing at the open field.

They exchange a look of concern. “Are you sure?” your father asks, hesitation evident in his voice.

You nod, offering a reassuring smile. “Yeah. You two should go inside. I’ll be fine out here. Baby steps, right?”

Your mother looks at you for a long moment, and a heartwarming smile finds its way to her lips. She was so, so proud of you. “Alright. We’ll be inside if you need us. Just come find us when you’re ready.”

“I will,” you promise, and with that, they head towards the observatory.

You spread out a blanket on the grass and sit down, the night air cool against your skin. Around you, groups of friends, families, and couples chatter excitedly. You can hear the hum of their conversations, the occasional burst of laughter, and the low murmur of anticipation. Despite the crowds, you feel a profound sense of solitude.

The meteor shower begins, and you crane your neck, squinting at the sky, but you can’t see anything. Frustration starts to build, knotting in your chest. Just as you’re about to give up, a voice speaks from behind you.

“You might want to use a telescope for that.”

You turn around, startled. Standing behind you is a fairly attractive young man. He’s wearing a white shirt with a flannel over it and black pants, framed glasses perched on his nose. His presence is unexpected but you don’t speak against it nevertheless, and he gives you a warm, easy smile.

“Here,” he says, sitting down beside you and handing you a small telescope.

You take it hesitantly, your fingers brushing against his for a brief moment. “Uh… thank you,” you mumble awkwardly—understandably so as you don’t exactly know how to talk to anyone who isn’t your family or your doctor, bringing the telescope to your eye. As you adjust the focus, the sky bursts into clarity, and you see a streak of light arc across the darkness—a meteor.

“Wow,” you whisper, unable to tear your gaze away.

The young man chuckles softly beside you. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

For a while, the two of you sit in companionable silence, watching the sky. Each meteor that blazes across the heavens feels like a small miracle, a moment of beauty in a world that often seems so harsh and unkind.

He breaks the silence, his voice gentle and filled with enthusiasm. “You know, this year’s meteor shower is part of the Perseids. They’re actually debris left behind by the comet Swift-Tuttle, which orbits the sun every 133 years. The meteors you’re seeing tonight are fragments of that comet burning up in Earth’s atmosphere.”

You put down the telescope for a moment and look at him, intrigued but unsure how to respond. His knowledge and passion are evident, and you don’t want to interrupt or discourage him. Fortunately, he seems to notice your silence and continues, his excitement growing as he speaks.

“It’s one of the most spectacular meteor showers because the particles hit the atmosphere at over 133,000 miles per hour, creating these bright, fast streaks of light. And on a good night, like tonight, you can see up to a hundred meteors per hour.”

Wanting to add your own contribution to the conversation so you wouldn’t seem like you’re just putting up with him, you say, “You seem to know a lot about astronomy.”

He laughs, his eyes crinkling into crescents. He shyly rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, well, I’m an aspiring astronomer, so…”

“Really?” You react to the unexpected newfound knowledge about this stranger with genuine surprise, your interest being genuinely piqued.

“Yeah,” he says, his smile widening. “Ever since I was a kid, I’ve been obsessed with the night sky. There’s just something about the vastness of space, the mystery of it all, that makes me feel... connected, I guess. Like, there’s so much more out there, you know?”

“I’ve always loved the stars too,” you admit quietly, almost as if sharing a secret. “They make me feel... less alone.”

His eyes soften and you’re not sure how you were able to see it happening clearly even though your surroundings are dim and the reflection of the distant lights cover the lens of his glasses—not to mention the strands of his hair at the very front framing his face, and he nods. “Exactly. It’s like looking at the stars makes everything else seem smaller, less overwhelming.”

Feeling an unexpected sense of ease, you shift slightly to face him a little more, curiosity bubbling up inside you. “Do you know any interesting facts about astronomy?” you ask, your voice tinged with genuine interest.

It was refreshing hearing him talk so passionately about this year’s meteor shower, telling you about facts you were certain not even a quarter of the people in here—save for the astronomers—know of, and you’re not sure why, but it made you want to hear him share his knowledge with you more.

He looks at you, momentarily puzzled. “Like... anything? Anything at all?”

You nod eagerly. “Yeah. I mean… I love stargazing, but I don’t really know much about astronomy itself. I just think the night sky is comforting and looks pretty.”

A warm smile spreads across his face, and he seems delighted by your interest. “Well, where to start?” He takes a moment to think. “Did you know that the Sun, our own star, produces the energy equivalent of 100 billion nuclear bombs every second through nuclear fusion in its core? Or that neutron stars, which are the remnants of supernovae, can spin up to 500 times per second? They're incredibly dense—a single teaspoon of neutron star material would weigh about a billion tons!”

He was practically beaming while sharing the facts about astronomy he knows of, and it drives your curiosity—despite being unsure if it’s directed to any further knowledge from him or to the young man himself—even further.

“That’s insane," you say in genuine astonishment. “How do neutron stars spin so fast? And… how can something be that dense? I can’t even imagine it.”

His eyes light up, clearly pleased by your genuine interest. “Neutron stars are fascinating, right? Their rapid rotation is due to the conservation of angular momentum. When the core of a massive star collapses in a supernova, it retains its angular momentum but its radius shrinks dramatically, causing it to spin much faster—kind of like how a figure skater spins faster when they pull their arms in.”

“And the density?” you press, leaning in slightly.

“Well,” he continues, “neutron stars are composed almost entirely of neutrons, which are packed so closely together that their density becomes astronomical. It’s mind-blowing to think about, but it’s because all the empty space between atoms gets eliminated, leaving just the neutrons packed together.”

His passion for astronomy is contagious, and as he explains the wonders of neutron stars, you can’t help but be impressed by his vast knowledge. You find yourself wondering just how long and often he studies, as it’s a fascinating sight to see someone so dedicated to their passion. In a way, you envy that trait—it’s something you’ve longed for in your own life.

“Neutron stars are just one example,” he continues speaking, oblivious to your internal musings. “The universe is full of these mind-boggling phenomena that challenge our understanding of physics and reality.”

You watch him, noting the excitement in his voice, the way his eyes sparkle as he speaks. It’s clear that he lives and breathes this subject, and his enthusiasm is infectious. There’s something comforting about his dedication, a reminder that there are people out there who are deeply connected to their passions.

His eyes twinkle with curiosity as he asks, “Do you have any favorite constellations in particular?” You tilt your head, wondering where this is going. “Why do you ask?”

He grins. “I want to see if I have any interesting facts about it. I’ve read a lot about constellations, so I’m curious if I can tell you something new about your favorite.” You think for a moment before replying, “Orion. I’ve always liked Orion.”

His face lights up. “Orion, the Hunter! That's a great choice. Did you know that the stars in Orion's Belt—Alnitak, Alnilam, and Mintaka—are all blue supergiants? They’re incredibly hot and massive, much more so than our Sun.”

He continues, “Betelgeuse, the red supergiant that marks one of Orion’s shoulders, is fascinating too. It’s so large that if it were placed in the center of our solar system, its surface would extend beyond the orbit of Mars. Betelgeuse is also a semiregular variable star, meaning its brightness changes over time. Astronomers think it could go supernova anytime within the next million years, which in cosmic terms is pretty soon.”

He then dived deeper into the lore and facts about Orion, his enthusiasm evident. “Then there’s Rigel, Orion’s other shoulder star. It’s a blue supergiant about 870 light-years away from us. It’s one of the brightest stars in our sky, around 120,000 times more luminous than the Sun. But it’s not just one star—Rigel is actually a star system with at least three components, possibly even more. There’s Rigel A, the supergiant, and a pair of smaller stars that orbit around it.”

You listen intently, drawn in by his enthusiasm. As he continues to talk, you can’t help but be captivated by the depth of his knowledge. He speaks with such passion and ease, and you wonder just how long and often he must study astronomy to know so much. It’s a stark contrast to your own experiences, where your illness has often overshadowed any pursuit of hobbies or interests.

“Another fascinating thing is that Orion’s Belt aligns almost perfectly with the pyramids of Giza in Egypt. This alignment has sparked numerous theories and legends about ancient civilizations and their connection to the stars. Some believe the pyramids were built to mirror the constellation, symbolizing a connection between Earth and the heavens,” he says, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping as if sharing a secret.

You find yourself thinking about how amazing it is to see someone so deeply invested in something. His eyes light up with every new fact he shares, his excitement palpable. It makes you feel a twinge of envy; you wish you could have such a passion, something that drives you and fills you with purpose.

“And there’s more,” he continues, “The Horsehead Nebula, which is part of the Orion Molecular Cloud Complex, is a dark nebula located just south of Alnitak, the leftmost star in Orion’s Belt. It's named for its distinctive shape, which looks like the head of a horse. It’s a fascinating area of space where new stars are being born.”

You listen, mesmerized not just by the information but by the boy himself. There’s something inspiring about his dedication and the way he finds joy in the cosmos. For a moment, your own struggles seem distant, replaced by a curiosity and a desire to know more.

“Wow, I had no idea there was so much to Orion,” you say, genuinely impressed. He smiles, his eyes still twinkling. “There’s always more to learn and discover. That’s what I love about astronomy—it constantly reminds me how vast and mysterious our universe is.”

Just as you practically feel that he’s about to steer the conversation towards you and ask if there’s anything you’re passionate about, you’re quick on your feet to beat him to it, “Why do you want to become an astronomer? Why are you so dedicated to it?”

He pauses, his expression softening as he considers your question. “It’s a long story,” he begins, his eyes flickering to the stars above. “But the short version is, I’ve always been fascinated by the night sky. When I was a kid, my parents got me a telescope for my birthday. I remember the first time I saw the rings of Saturn—I was completely hooked.”

You watch him closely, noticing the way his features light up with each word. There’s a deep-seated passion in his voice, a genuine love for the subject he spoke of.

“My grandfather was a big influence too,” he continues. “He used to take me out to this old observatory near our house. We’d spend hours there, just looking at the stars and talking about the universe. He’d tell me stories about constellations and the myths behind them. Those moments felt magical, and they sparked a curiosity in me that never went away.”

He glances at you, a small, wistful smile appearing on his lips. “As I grew older, I realized that astronomy wasn’t just about looking at pretty stars. It’s about understanding our place in the universe, exploring the unknown, and constantly challenging what we think we know. There’s so much out there that we haven’t discovered yet, and that’s what drives me. The idea that, no matter how much we learn, there’s always more to uncover.”

You nod slowly, captivated by his words. It’s clear that his dedication to astronomy isn’t just about the science; it’s about the wonder and endless possibilities the universe holds.

“And I guess,” he adds, his voice softer, “it’s also a way to keep that connection with my grandfather alive. Every time I look through a telescope, it feels like he’s there with me, sharing that moment."

“That’s incredible,” you say, your voice filled with genuine admiration. “It’s amazing how something like a childhood gift can shape your entire life.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and comforting. “Yeah, it’s funny how life works out sometimes. Well… what about you? Do you have anything you’re passionate about?”

You hesitate, looking down at the grass, the weight of your own struggles pressing on your shoulders. “There’s nothing in particular that I hold any sort of passion for,” you admit hesitantly. “It just feels pointless. There’s not enough time for me to explore anything, and even if I did, it would all go to waste in the end anyway. So, I never really bothered to try.”

The young man listens intently, his expression thoughtful. “I understand,” he begins, choosing his words carefully. “It’s easy to get overwhelmed by the idea of how things might end, especially when you feel like you have limited time. But sometimes, it’s not about the end result; it’s about the moments in between. Focusing on what’s happening right now, what’s right in front of you, can make all the difference."

You let out a small sigh, feeling a mix of frustration and sadness. He doesn’t understand at all—but he’s not at fault for that. “That’s easier said than done.”

He nods in agreement. “Well, you’re right. It is easier said than done. But, hey, there’s always a first time for everything, and this could be one of those times. Starting small can make it more manageable.”

“But what’s the point in doing all that, anyway?” you ask, a hint of resignation in your voice.

He leans in slightly, his gaze warm and full of hope—a stark contrast to yours that are devoid of emotion. “The point is to find those little moments of joy and meaning, even if they seem insignificant. Maybe it starts with something as simple as taking a walk in the park, trying out a new flavor of your favorite food, or experimenting with a different style than what you're used to. These small steps can lead to new experiences and, who knows, maybe even a newfound passion.”

He continues speaking, “It’s about creating moments that matter to you, no matter how small they might seem. And maybe, over time, those moments will add up to something bigger, something meaningful.”

You look at him and, without much emotion, remark, “You seem to be a really sentimental and optimistic person.”

He blushes slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I try to see the bright side in everything. It’s not always easy, but I believe there’s always something good, even in the toughest situations.”

Is there?

You hesitate, then ask, “But what if you come across a situation where it’s impossible to see the bright side? What would you do then?”

His smile falters for a moment, and he looks thoughtful. “That’s a tough question,” he admits. “I think, in those moments, it’s about finding any sliver of hope you can, no matter how small. Sometimes, it’s not about seeing the bright side immediately but about holding on until things start to make sense. It might mean leaning on others for support, finding strength in small victories, or just surviving one day at a time.”

You glance down, digesting his words. They resonate with you more deeply than you expected. Though he doesn’t know it, he is describing your life—the struggle, the search for any small piece of hope.

He continues, his voice softer. “There are times when the world seems overwhelmingly dark, and in those times, it’s okay to acknowledge that it’s hard. But I believe there’s always a way forward, even if it’s just a tiny step at a time.”

“But what if you can’t find any sliver of hope because there’s none in the first place?” you ask, your voice tinted with a mix of frustration and resignation.

He pauses, as if he’s beginning to sense the weight of your words. “Are you… speaking from a personal perspective?” he asks gently, afraid to hit any sore spot.

You look down at the grass, avoiding his gaze. The silence stretches, and he takes it as a sign to answer.

“Well, sometimes, it feels like there’s no hope at all,” he begins carefully. “I’ve had moments like that, where everything seems bleak. When that happens, I try to remember that feelings are temporary, even the worst ones. It might not seem like it now, but change is the only constant. If you can’t find hope in your current situation, maybe it can come from something small, something outside of the immediate struggle.”

He shifted slightly closer, playing with the lace of his shoe while he sat cross-legged. “It might be a smile from a stranger, a kind word from a friend, or even a moment like this, where you’re sharing your thoughts with someone. Those tiny moments of connection can sometimes provide the sliver of hope we need to keep going.”

You remain silent, processing his words. He continues, “And if you can’t see any hope right now, that’s okay. Sometimes, we have to lean on others to help us find it. You don’t have to carry the burden alone. There are people who care about you and want to help.”

“Do you think there’s hope left for those with a doomed fate?” you ask, your voice coming out as a whisper, filled with an unspoken plea for reassurance.

He falls silent for a moment, contemplating your question. “Hope is a complicated thing,” he begins slowly. “Even in the darkest of times, hope can be the smallest of lights. It’s not always about finding a way to change your fate, but rather finding a way to live despite it.”

He looks up at the sky, his eyes reflecting the faint glow of the stars. “I believe that even when someone’s fate seems doomed, there can still be moments of beauty, connection, and meaning. Those moments might not change the outcome, but they can change the experience of the journey. It’s about making the most of the time you have, no matter how limited it may be. It can be as simple as watching a meteor shower with someone who cares, or as profound as realizing that your life, however brief, has touched others in ways you might never fully understand.”

You listen, his words weaving through the heavy fog of your thoughts. His sincerity offers a glimmer of comfort, a reminder that even in a seemingly hopeless situation, there can still be a reason to hold on, even if just for a little while longer.

Suddenly, your conversation with him is interrupted by the distant call of your mother. Both of you glance back towards the source of the voice. The realization hits you that it’s time to go home. You turn back to him, a slight reluctance in your eyes.

“It’s getting late. I should probably head home,” you say, standing up and brushing the grass off your dress. The cool night air feels heavier now, carrying with it a sense of the evening coming to an end. “You should too.”

He remains seated, his eyes fixed on you with a warm smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he replies, but makes no immediate move to get up. There’s a quiet understanding in his gaze, an acknowledgment of the fleeting yet meaningful connection you’ve shared.

You both wave goodbye, and you add, “Thanks… for talking to me. It was nice meeting you.”

“It was nice meeting you too,” he says while smiling, still seated, watching you walk away, his eyes following your every step.

As you approach your parents, their broad smiles greet you, filled with a mix of curiosity and pride. “What’s the matter?” you ask with genuine curiosity.

“Did you make a new friend?” your mother inquires, her eyes sparkling with hope and a touch of relief.

At the mention of the young man, you glance back towards where you left him. He’s now engrossed in his telescope, scanning the night sky with the same passion that drew you to him in the first place. You turn back to your parents with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m not really sure.”

Your father places a gentle hand on your shoulder, his grip warm and reassuring. “We’re proud of you for trying to talk to someone new,” he says, his voice filled with encouragement.

Your mother nods in agreement, her smile soft and understanding. “It’s a big step, and we’re just glad you took it.”

On the ride home, the car is filled with a comfortable silence, the kind that allows thoughts to flow freely. You find yourself replaying the stranger’s words over and over in your mind. His perspective on life, his deep passion for astronomy, and his hopeful outlook seem to carve out a small but significant space in your heart. His advice to focus on the present rather than the daunting future lingers, a beacon of light in your often dark and uncertain world.

As the car rolls through the quiet streets, you glance out the window at the night sky. The stars seem a bit brighter now, each one a reminder of the infinite possibilities that exist, even in the face of overwhelming odds.

Suddenly, a realization hits you, pulling you out of your reverie. You didn’t get to ask him what his name was. A pang of regret settles in your chest, mingling with the residual warmth of the evening. You wonder if you’ll ever see him again, or if this brief encounter will remain just a fleeting, albeit impactful, memory.

For the first time in a long while, you feel a tiny flicker of something akin to hope. It’s fragile and tentative, but it’s there, nestled in the corner of your mind, whispering that maybe, just maybe, there’s more to life than the bleakness you’ve grown accustomed to.

For once, the shooting stars have heard your wish to be given a sign to keep going.

—

A few days later, you find yourself under that dark cloud of sadness again. It always strikes at the most unexpected times—like now, while you’re in the shower. The water droplets sprinkling from the showerhead feel more like a deluge, and you can’t shake the sensation of being drowned by your own thoughts. The sadness, always lurking in the background, engulfs you completely. You turn off the shower, the silence of the room only amplifying the roar of your thoughts. Leaning against the tiled walls, you tilt your head back, as if trying to prevent the tears from falling. Just as the dam is about to break, a voice echoes in your mind—his voice, almost as if on cue.

“I believe that even when someone’s fate seems doomed, there can still be moments of beauty, connection, and meaning. Those moments might not change the outcome, but they can change the experience of the journey. It’s about making the most of the time you have, no matter how limited it may be.”

His words cut through the darkness, offering a glimmer of light. Making the most of your time... no matter how limited it may be. You remember him mentioning the small steps you can take: going on a walk, trying out new things. An idea starts to form, slowly but surely.

After finishing your shower, you head to your room. A staring contest with your closet ensues as you ponder what would be appropriate for a day at the park. Once you settle on something comfortable yet presentable and finish fixing yourself up, you walk to the living room, where only your father was found as your mother was away for work. The sight of you fully dressed up surprises him—in a good way.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks, trying to mask his astonishment.

Shyly, you respond, “Can you drive me to the park?”

Your father’s eyes widen in surprise, and you can see he’s holding back tears. His voice choked with emotion, happily agreeing. “Of course! I mean, of course, sweetheart. Let’s go.”

His pride and happiness is palpable, and for the first time in a long while, you feel a small sense of accomplishment. It’s a tiny step, but it’s the beginning of something new. As you walk towards the door with your father, the young man’s words continue to echo in your mind.

On the drive to the park, you gaze out the window, watching the world pass by. The trees blur together, and the sky stretches out infinitely, offering a sense of calm. The hum of the car is soothing, and for a moment, you let yourself be enveloped by the tranquility.

Your father, hands steady on the wheel, breaks the silence with a gentle question. “What made you want to go to the park today?”

Turning to him, you muster a small smile, so faint it could barely be seen. “Just... making the most out of the time I have left,” you shrug.

Your father glances at you, his eyes softening with a mix of pride and sadness. He doesn’t say anything, but his expression speaks volumes. He’s grateful to see you taking steps, no matter how small, towards finding some semblance of joy or normalcy.

As the car continues down the road, the significance of this simple outing begins to settle in. It’s not just a trip to the park; it’s a step towards living, towards reclaiming moments that were lost in the shadow of illness and despair.

When you finally arrive at the park, you take a deep breath, ready to embrace whatever this new experience might bring. For now, you’re just a girl, standing in a park, making the most of the time she has, and that’s enough.

Your father gives you a reassuring smile. “Make sure you message me when you’re ready to be picked up, okay?” You nod, trying to mirror his smile. “I will.”

He waves goodbye as you step out of the car, and suddenly, you’re alone. Taking small steps, the outside world feels almost unfamiliar. People are everywhere—couples, friends, families. Pets chase each other around, vendors sell a variety of foods, and the trees provide a gentle, comforting breeze.

You stroll through the park, slowly taking in your surroundings. Every step is cautious because this isn’t exactly familiar territory. But you remind yourself—baby steps. This is a new experience, and you deserve to cut yourself some slack.

Lost in your thoughts, you wander through the park, hardly noticing as the density of people around you gradually increases. The noise rises, a symphony of chatter, laughter, and footsteps, becoming more unbearable with each step you take. It’s as if the sound waves themselves are pressing against your skin, squeezing tighter with each passing second.

Suddenly, the environment feels overwhelmingly loud. Anxiety hits you like a tidal wave, swift and unrelenting as you begin to realize what you wish had just gone over your head: you are alone in a place you’ve never stepped foot on before.

Your heart races, pounding in your chest with such force that you fear it might explode. Every noise seems amplified, and every glance from a passerby feels like a spotlight trained on you. The world around you blurs and narrows into a tunnel vision where only the threat of being watched remains clear.

Your breaths become shallow, rapid, and each inhale feels like it barely reaches your lungs. You place a trembling hand on your chest, trying to ground yourself, but it only seems to make the panic more palpable. Your throat tightens, making it hard to swallow, and a cold sweat breaks out on your forehead. Tears well up, stinging your eyes as the sense of doom takes hold.

Your legs feel unsteady, almost as if they might give out beneath you at any moment. The crowd seems to close in, the once little groups of people now a suffocating mass. The world around you distorts, sounds warping into an unintelligible hum. You feel disconnected from your body, as if you’re watching yourself from a distance, helpless to stop the panic that courses through you.

Just as you begin to take a step back, desperate to escape, you collide with something solid. It’s a person’s back, and when you turn, you see the broad figure of a man wearing a black fitted turtleneck. You’re about to flee, but he turns, his expression initially one of surprise.

“Oh, sorry—”

Then recognition dawns on both your faces. It’s the young man from the observatory. He sees the panic in your eyes, the hand clutching at your heart, the tears threatening to spill over. His face softens, concern replacing surprise, and he steps closer, his presence grounding in the midst of your chaos.

“Hey, are you okay?” His voice is a lifeline.

You can’t trust yourself to speak, so you just shake your head, eyes wide and pleading. For a moment, you catch a glimpse of the expression you held on your reflection on the lens of his glasses, and it drives you into despair even further.

He cautiously steps even closer, his voice low and soothing. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You're safe. Just breathe with me, alright? In and out.”

He starts to breathe slowly and deeply, demonstrating for you. At first, it’s hard to match his calm rhythm, but focusing on his steady breaths helps. Gradually, your own breathing slows, deepens, the frantic pounding in your chest easing slightly.

He keeps his gaze locked on yours, his voice a constant, comforting murmur. “You’re doing great. Just keep breathing.”

The world begins to settle back into place. The noise recedes, and the faces in the crowd become less threatening. Your breaths come easier, the tightness in your chest loosening its grip. Tears that were on the brink of falling retreat, leaving your eyes wet but no longer overflowing.

His eyes remain warm, filled with genuine concern. “Do you want to sit down for a bit?” he suggests, certain that you needed a little more time to calm down. You hesitate for a moment, then nod in agreement.

He leads you to a nearby bench, his presence bringing a somewhat calming aura as he sits beside you. He tries to engage you in small talk, attempting to distract you from your overwhelming thoughts. “So, what brings you to the park today?” he asks gently.

You fiddle with your fingers on your lap, grateful for the normalcy of the question and the fact that he seems to be trying to distract you from your thoughts.

“I followed your advice from that night at the observatory,” you explain. “You talked about making the most of the time I have left by trying out new things. I remembered that and decided to come here.”

He looks genuinely surprised. “Really? I didn’t expect you to remember that, let alone follow it.”

You offer a small nod. “This morning, I was feeling down, and your words just came to me. That’s when I decided to come here. But I wasn’t expecting it to be so… hard. I’ve barely been here thirty minutes and I already had an anxiety attack.”

His expression softens with understanding. “It’s completely normal to feel that way. Huge crowds can be really overwhelming, especially if you’re not used to them.”

He pauses, sensing there’s more to your anxiety but refrains from pressing further. Instead, he offers a supportive presence, hoping you’ll share only what you’re comfortable with. To his surprise, you continue.

“I’ve never been to the park before,” you admit, your voice a whisper. “I’ve been mostly isolated my entire life.”

His curiosity is piqued, but he respects your boundaries. He nods, his eyes reflecting empathy. “That must be really tough,” he says softly. “I can’t even imagine.”

There’s a moment of silence, comfortable and filled with unspoken understanding. For once, you don’t feel the need to fill the conversation—just his presence was enough.

“You know,” he begins, looking out at the park with a contemplative expression, “the first time I went to a new place by myself, I felt pretty overwhelmed too. It was nowhere near what you’re going through, but I get a bit of what it’s like to be surrounded by so much and feel so alone.”

You appreciate his effort to relate, to connect. It’s a small comfort, but it matters. “Thank you,” you say quietly. “For being here, and… for understanding.”

He smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes and warms you from the inside. “Anytime. And remember, everyone starts small. You’re doing great just by being here.”

Silence fills the air for a few seconds, allowing the tranquility of the park to envelop you both. Then, a thought surfaces, nudging you gently. “You know…” you begin, turning slightly towards him, “I still don’t know your name.”

His face lights up with a shy smile. “Oh, right. I guess I forgot to introduce myself properly. My name is San. Choi San.”

“San,” you repeat, letting the name roll off your lips. “Like the mountain.”

He laughs, a soft and endearing sound. “Yeah, exactly like the mountain. You’re not the first to make that connection,” he says with a grin, a hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks.

The wind rustles the leaves in the trees, carrying with it the distant sounds of laughter and conversation. You sit there, feeling a strange mix of relief and curiosity. San’s enthusiasm for life and his kindness provide a stark contrast to the isolation and fear that have been your constant companions.

“San,” you say again, more to yourself than to him, feeling the name claim a place for itself in your mind. There’s something grounding about it, something that makes you feel a little more connected to the world around you.

In an attempt to keep the discussion going and to distract yourself from what happened earlier, you decide to ask him what he asked you earlier.

"So, what brings you to the park today?" you inquire, your curiosity genuine.

San leans back slightly, looking around as if the park itself might answer. “I often come here to clear my head or unwind, especially when I'm going through something. It’s like a little sanctuary for me. Being out here helps me calm down and gather my thoughts.”

You wish you weren’t so afraid of being by yourself in huge crowds. If only you could do the same as San, finding solace in a place like this without feeling overwhelmed.

“What do you like about the park? Why does it bring you comfort?” you ask, and he smiles, a faraway look in his eyes.

“There’s something about the openness of it all. The way the trees rustle, the sound of children laughing, the way the sunlight filters through the leaves. It’s grounding. It reminds me that there’s more to life than the stress and the noise. It’s a place where I can just be.”

“You really seem to have a deep connection with a lot of things. First, astronomy, and now, nature,” you remark, a hint of admiration in your voice.

San nods, his eyes reflecting the sunlight filtering through the trees. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. It’s always been a place where I can reset and remind myself of the bigger picture. For me, nature has this way of putting everything into perspective.”

It was a fascinating sight to see, in a way. Spending all your hours within the confines of your home and being imprisoned by your own fate for pretty much all the years you’ve spent in this world has proved to be something that had imprinted a huge impact in the way you live, because even seeing passion being radiated by people is enough to elicit genuine surprise from you.

So this is what being in a world outside of yours is like.

So this is what seeing things in a perspective different from the one you’re holding is like.

So this is what not being you is like.

You look around, trying to see the park through his eyes. “I wish I could feel that way. Most of the time, I just feel... overwhelmed.”

San looks at you with understanding. “It’s okay to feel that way. Everyone has their own journey. What matters is that you’re trying. Coming here today was a big step, and it’s a good start.”

You nod, feeling a bit reassured. “Thank you. I guess I just have to take it one step at a time, huh?”

“Exactly,” San agrees, his voice encouraging. “And remember, it’s okay to take breaks and ask for help when you need it. You’re not alone.”

His words resonate with you, and for the first time in a while, you feel a glimmer of hope. It’s small, but it’s there, nevertheless. “Maybe I’ll try to come here more often, see if it helps.”

San smiles warmly. “I think that’s a great idea. Who knows, maybe one day you’ll find as much peace here as I do.”

You sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching the park come to life around you. The chaos that felt suffocating earlier now seems a bit more manageable, with San’s presence providing comfort.

As the conversation winds down, you feel a sense of gratitude. “Thank you, San. For everything. I didn’t think talking to a stranger could make such a difference.”

San chuckles softly. “Sometimes, a fresh perspective is all we need. And, well, we’re not really strangers anymore, are we?”

You offer him a small smile, feeling a connection forming. “I guess not.”

As the sun begins to set, casting a warm orange glow over the park, you look at San and say, “I should probably ask my father to come pick me up.”

San nods, stretching a bit after adjusting his glasses. “Yeah, I should head home too. My cat is probably wondering where I am.”

Your curiosity is piqued despite your earlier intention to leave. “Oh, you have a cat?” you ask.

“Yeah,” San replies with a smile. “Her name is Byeol, she’s a Siamese cat.” He pulls out his phone and shows you a picture of her. Byeol is a strikingly beautiful cat with piercing blue eyes and a sleek, cream-colored coat accented with darker points on her ears, face, paws, and tail.

“She’s adorable,” you say, admiring the photo. “She looks like a princess.”

San beams with pride. “Right? She’s a handful sometimes, but I wouldn’t trade her for anything. She’s always there when I need her, even if she’s just curling up next to me while I read.”

Just as you’re both caught up in talking about Byeol, you see your father's car pulling up. The sight of him brings you back to reality, reminding you of the time. You turn to San, feeling a bit rushed. “I should go. It was nice talking to you again, San.”

San waves with a smile, a hint of déjà vu in his eyes as he watches you walk away. “Same here. Take care.”

You walk towards your father’s car, your thoughts swirling with the day’s events. As you settle into the passenger seat, your father starts driving and asks, “So, how was your day at the park?”

You decide not to mention your anxiety attack, not wanting to worry him. “Today gave me a piece of a new perspective in life,” you say instead.

Your father glances at you, curiosity etched on his face. “What do you mean by that?”

You glance out the window, gathering your thoughts. “Do you remember the boy from the observatory?”

He nods. “Yes, is he the boy you were sitting with on the bench?”

“Yeah,” You confirm. “We crossed paths again today by accident.”

“Did you spend time together?” your father asks, his interest clearly piqued.

“Well, kind of,” you reply, thinking back to your conversations with San. “We just sat on a bench and talked about things. Nothing special, really. But it felt different. I felt different.”

Your father seems intrigued. “Is that where you got this ‘new perspective’ from?”

“Maybe,” you admit, a small smile forming on your lips. “He has this way of seeing the world that makes it seem... less daunting. More manageable. He talked about finding beauty and meaning even in difficult circumstances, and it just made sense to me.”

Your father looks at you, pride and relief evident in his eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. Sometimes, all it takes is a different viewpoint to make things seem better. And it sounds like this boy has a good influence on you.”

You nod, looking out the window as the scenery passes by. The streets, houses, and trees blend into a comforting blur. You can’t help but think about how much San’s words and presence have impacted you in such a short time. His optimism and the way he embraced life, even with its uncertainties, had struck a chord within you.

At the same time, your curiosity about him couldn’t help but wander around further.

—

Last night, sleep came with a weighty heart, knowing all too well what awaited today. The bright red marker on the calendar hung by your door, circling the dreaded date, was an ever-present reminder of your reality.

Your monthly checkup.

It was never just a routine visit for you. Each trip to the hospital was a stark reminder of the inevitable. The sterile smell of antiseptic, the chill of the air-conditioned rooms, the cold, clinical atmosphere—everything about the hospital filled you with dread. The monthly checkups were less about monitoring your health and more about confronting the slow, inescapable decline. You loathed the look of concern on your parents’ faces, the hushed conversations with your doctor, the heavy sighs and the sympathetic nods. You knew your health was deteriorating, and each visit confirmed what you already feared. And that was what you hated most.

Now, as you sit in the car with your father driving, your mother’s absence due to work commitments is painfully felt. The air is thick with unspoken fears and desperate hopes for some glimmer of good news, though deep down, you all know it’s a futile wish. The treatments, the surgeries—they were all temporary measures, patches over a wound that couldn’t truly heal.

Today, however, feels different.

For the first time, the thought of bad news brings a strange, new fear. Typically, you had accepted your fate with a resigned indifference. What has changed now? Why do you suddenly care so much about the results?

The answer isn’t clear, but you suspect it has something to do with the recent days at the park, the unexpected encounter with San, and his earnest words about finding beauty and meaning in the limited time one has. His encouragement to live, even if it’s just a little bit, seems to have ignited a spark within you—a spark you can’t ignore.

As you watch the scenery blur past, your mind drifts back to those moments at the park. The seed of hope he planted now feels fragile but growing. The hospital looms ahead, an unwelcoming fortress, and you feel your heart tighten as you pull into the parking lot. Your father’s grip on the steering wheel is firm, his knuckles white. He looks at you, offering a strained smile.

“Ready?” he asks, his voice betraying the calm demeanor he tries to project. You nod, though your stomach churns with anxiety. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Together, you walk into the hospital, the familiar antiseptic smell hitting you immediately. The nurse at the reception desk recognizes you and gives a sympathetic nod before leading you to the examination room. You sit on the crinkling paper of the exam table, your father standing beside you, his hand a steadying presence on your shoulder. The doctor enters, clipboard in hand, and offers a professional but warm smile.

“How are we feeling today?” she asks, her tone gentle. “Alright,” you reply, though it feels like a lie that even you can’t bring yourself to believe.

The checkup begins, each procedure a familiar invasion. Your mind is a whirlwind, each step a reminder of your reality. When it’s over, the doctor looks at you with a mix of pity and professionalism before asking your father to step outside. You know what this means. It’s never a good sign when they need to talk privately.

Left alone, the silence is heavy and suffocating. You glance around the room, trying to focus on anything but the conversation happening outside. The sterile instruments, the educational posters on the walls—they all seem like cruel jokes.

Minutes stretch on like hours until your father finally returns. His face is pale, eyes red-rimmed, but he forces a smile. “Let’s head home,” he said softly.

You nodded, feeling your heart sink. Another bad report, another reminder of the inevitable. As you and your father headed toward the exit, a familiar figure caught your eye by the reception desk. He turned his head slightly, and your suspicions were confirmed.

San.

Why was he here? Visiting an ill family member? A friend, perhaps? Or... was he the patient himself?

Before you could delve deeper into your thoughts, your father’s voice pulled you back to reality. “Let’s head home," he repeated gently, and despite your curiosity, you turned your attention away from San and followed your father outside.

On the ride home, the atmosphere in the car was heavy with unspoken dread. You sat in the passenger seat, your eyes fixed on the passing scenery, but your mind was elsewhere, trapped in a whirlpool of anxiety and fear. The hum of the engine and the rhythmic thud of the tires on the asphalt were the only sounds, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside you.

Your father’s silence was louder than any words. His grip on the steering wheel was tight as if desperately trying to hold himself together, and you could see the pain etched in his features. You mustered the courage to ask, your voice coming off as a whisper, “Dad, what did she say?”

He hesitated, and for a moment, you saw the facade he tried so hard to maintain begin to crumble. His eyes welled up with tears, his breath hitching as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. “You… you have a month left to live,” he said slowly, his voice breaking, each word hitting you like a sledgehammer.

Time stopped.

The world held its breath.

And so did you.

The world outside the car ceased to exist, reduced to a blur of colors and shapes. The weight of his words pressed down on you, suffocating and inescapable. A month. Just one month left. Four weeks. Thirty days. The enormity of it was paralyzing.

Your mind went blank, your father’s quiet sobs becoming a distant, muffled sound. You stared at your lap, your hands clenched into fists, knuckles turning white. Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps, as if the very air around you had turned to lead.

No, no, no. This can’t be. This can’t be.

“I’m so, so sorry, darling…” your father whispered, his voice choked with emotion. The raw pain in his words shattered the fragile dam holding back your tears, and you felt your heart splinter into a thousand pieces.

When you pulled into the driveway, the house loomed ahead, a familiar sight now tainted with a sense of finality. Your mother stood by the door, her face a mask of worry and sorrow. She had been crying; her eyes were red and swollen, her cheeks streaked with dried tears. It seems as if your father had already informed her about it right after his conversation with your doctor. As you stepped out of the car, the last vestiges of your composure crumbled.

You ran to her, needing the comfort of her embrace. She opened her arms wide, gathering you into a tight hug. You buried your face in her shoulder, the sobs wracking your body as she held you close, her chin resting on your forehead. One hand gently rubbed your back in soothing circles, while the other cradled your head, fingers tangled in your hair.

“It’s going to be alright,” she murmured, her voice trembling. But you both knew it was a lie. There was no alright, no miracle waiting around the corner. Just the cruel march of time, slipping away faster than you could grasp.

Inside the house, the usual warmth felt hollow, a stark reminder of the fleeting moments you had left. The living room, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage. Your father’s footsteps echoed in the hallway as he followed you in, his presence a silent testament to the shared grief weighing down on your family.

You slumped onto the couch, the weight of the news pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe. Your mother sat beside you, her arm around your shoulders, offering silent support. Your father joined you, sitting on the other side, his hand resting gently on yours.

“We’ll get through this,” he said softly, though his voice betrayed the uncertainty in his heart. You nodded, but the words felt empty, a hollow echo in the face of an unforgiving reality.

The room fell into a heavy silence, each of you lost in your thoughts. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, an unwelcome reminder of the time slipping away. You wished you could stop it, freeze this moment and hold on to the fragile threads of hope that still lingered.

But deep down, you knew the truth. Your time was running out, and there was nothing you could do to change it.

When night falls, you find yourself in a familiar situation, sitting on your bed while gazing at the stars outside. Somehow, they still provide a sense of comfort, even if it’s slowly starting to dim. An hour ago, when you went to your room to “sleep,” you heard the muffled cries of your parents the moment you shut the door behind you. Instead of heading to your bed, you stayed there by the door, ear pressed against it, listening to their helpless sobs.

The sound was unbearable. It wasn’t just the sadness in their voices; it was the raw, visceral pain, the sense of impending loss. It cut through you like a knife. You couldn’t handle hearing them cry. You couldn’t handle making their suffering even worse.

You had to rid yourself of them before it got worse on their behalf.

So here you are now. Minutes ago, you were just stargazing, but now, half your figure is outside your window. Carefully, you sneak out of your room, making sure to avoid any noise as you slip past the gates. You look back at your home once more, and your heart shatters. You hold back your sobs, then you make a run for it, not daring to look back.

Your bare feet pound against the ground, the sharp edges of the tiny stones biting into your skin. Each step hurts, but you keep running. The pain is nothing compared to the torment in your heart. Nothing else is on your mind but to run, run, run.

The night was cold, the chill air stinging your face as you eventually found yourself standing on the edge of the cliff. Tears streamed down your cheeks, mingling with the sweat from your frantic run. The city lights below twinkled like distant stars, mocking the darkness that had enveloped your heart. Each breath was a struggle, each sob a dagger in your chest

You thought of your parents, the look of devastation in their eyes when the doctor had delivered the news. You thought of the pain you had caused them, the weight of their sorrow pressing down on you like a physical force. How could you continue to be the source of their suffering?

Your mind raced with thoughts of escape, of ending the agony for everyone involved. You imagined the relief on their faces when they no longer had to watch you fade away. It seemed like the only way to free them from this nightmare.

As you stood there, teetering on the edge, you closed your eyes, ready to take the final step. But before you could, a strong hand grabbed your wrist, yanking you back from the brink. You gasped, eyes flying open, and found yourself pulled into the firm embrace of a familiar figure.

San’s arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly. His chest heaved with the exertion of his run to catch you, his breath hot against your ear. “What are you doing?” he demanded, his voice a mix of fear and desperation.

You couldn’t find the words to respond, your body trembling uncontrollably. He didn’t let go, his grip tightening as if afraid you might slip away. The reality of what you had almost done hit you like a tidal wave, and the sobs you had been holding back broke free, wracking your body.

San slowly took steps back, ensuring you were safely away from the edge of the cliff. You clung to him, sobbing into his chest. “There’s no point, San,” you cried, your voice broken. “There’s no point in living. I can’t. I can’t do this anymore—please, I just... I need to end it all...”

San’s heart ached at your words. He tightened his hold on you, trying to infuse his strength into your frail, trembling body. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m here,” he whispered, his voice soothing, attempting to anchor you in the present. “Let’s sit down, okay?”

He gently guided you to sit down, and you didn’t protest, your soul and body too numb to resist. He sat beside you, keeping a firm arm around your shoulders, rubbing your back in slow, calming circles. The silence between you was thick with emotion, but he was patient, waiting for you to find your voice.

After a few minutes, you took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, San,” you whisper, and he leans in closer because he can’t hear you. “I don’t think I can still find it in me to believe in the existence of hope anymore.”

He looked at you with concern. “What’s wrong? What do you mean by that?”

You turned to him, your eyes filled with unshed tears. “I have a month left.”

His brows furrowed in confusion. “A month left? What do you mean?”

With a deep breath, you revealed the truth. “I’m diagnosed with a terminal disease, San. I’m cursed.”

San’s eyes widened in shock. “What? No, that can’t be...” His voice trailed off, the weight of your words settling in.

“I’ve known for my entire life,” you continued, your voice trembling. “But today, the doctor told my parents that I only have a month left to live. I don’t know how to keep going, knowing that my time is so limited.”

“I’ve always felt different, San. Since birth, I’ve been living with this disease, and it feels like I’m on borrowed time. Every single day, I wake up knowing that my life is on a countdown, and it’s exhausting. I can’t let myself be happy because I’m terrified that if I do, it’ll be snatched away from me. It’s like there’s this invisible barrier between me and the rest of the world. I see people finding joy in the simplest things, and I can’t. I just can’t.”

San’s eyes are filled with empathy and sorrow as he listens, his hand never leaving your shoulder. You take a deep breath and continue, the words coming faster now, as if a dam inside you has finally broken.

“I feel like such a burden to my parents. They don’t say it, but I know. Every hospital visit, every new medication, every surgery—it’s like I’m a constant reminder of the life they could have had without me. I’ve seen the fear and worry in their eyes every time we talk to the doctors. It’s like a knife twisting in my heart every single time. I hate seeing them suffer because of me. I hate that my existence is a source of pain for them.”

Your voice trembles with the weight of your emotions, but you push on, needing to get it all out.

“I can’t do normal things like everyone else. I’ve missed out on so much because of this illness. School, friends, just going out and having fun—none of that has ever been normal for me. I’ve been isolated for most of my life, and it’s so lonely. I watch from the sidelines as life goes on without me, and it hurts… it hurts so much.”

Tears begin to flow freely down your cheeks, and you don’t bother wiping them away. San’s grip on your shoulder tightens, offering silent support.

“I feel guilty for wanting to be happy. Every time I see my parents smile, I feel like I’m taking that away from them because of my condition. I feel like I’m stealing their chance at a normal, happy life. I wish I could just disappear and take all their pain with me. I wish I could give them a break from all this suffering. So, that’s why I…”

You pause to catch your breath, the weight of your words pressing down on you. San remains silent, his eyes never leaving yours, his presence grounding you. The sobs come harder now, your body shaking with the force of your emotions. San pulls you closer, wrapping you in a warm, comforting embrace. His presence feels like a lifeline.

“I’ve tried so hard to be strong, to put on a brave face for them. But it's getting harder and harder. I’m so tired, San. I’m so, so tired. And the worst part is, I feel like I don’t even have the right to be tired. There are so many people who have it worse than me, and I feel guilty for feeling this way. But I can’t help it. I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

Your voice cracks, and you finally let go, crying freely into San’s arms. He holds you tighter, his hand gently rubbing your back in soothing circles.

“I just want to be normal. I want to live a life without fear, without pain. I want to be able to laugh without worrying about what comes next. But I can’t. And it’s killing me inside.”

San holds you as your sobs shake his chest, waiting until your breaths slow and the storm of your emotions begins to calm. He doesn’t rush to speak; he knows there are no quick fixes for what you're going through. When he does finally speak, his voice is soft and raw with emotion.

“I don’t have any magic words to make this better,” he begins. “I can’t pretend to understand the depth of what you’re going through. No one can, except you. What you’re feeling is valid, and it’s okay to be angry, sad, and scared. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He pauses, letting the weight of his words settle in. “Oftentimes, life is incredibly unfair. It’s okay to acknowledge that. You’ve been dealt a really tough hand, and it’s not right or fair. But... you’re still here, aren’t you? And that means something. I’m proud of you for it.”

San’s grip on you tightens slightly, a gesture of reassurance. “You’ve been carrying this burden for so long, feeling like you have to be strong for everyone else. But you don’t have to do it alone. It’s okay to let people in, to let them help you carry the weight. Your parents, they love you, alright? They don’t see you as a burden. They see you as their precious child, someone they’d do anything for. They’re suffering because they can’t take away your pain, not because you’re causing it.”

You unconsciously nuzzle into his embrace a little more, the low vibrations from his chest as he spoke sending warmth throughout your troubled soul. “I know it’s hard to believe in hope right now. And maybe that’s not what you need at this moment. Maybe what you need is to just let yourself go. To let yourself feel everything you’re feeling without judgment. To let yourself grieve for the life you’ve missed and the dreams you feel slipping away. That’s okay. It’s okay to mourn those losses.”

San’s eyes meet yours, filled with sincerity and care. “You’ve been fighting so hard, and it’s okay to admit that you’re tired. It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay to be vulnerable. You’re human, and humans aren’t meant to carry these kinds of burdens alone.”

He lets the silence stretch, allowing his words to sink in. “If there’s one thing I want you to remember, it’s that your life has a meaning. Not because of what you can or can’t do, but because of who you are. The way you’ve touched the lives of those around you, the strength you’ve shown just by getting through each day—those things matter. You matter.”

You look at him through tear-blurred eyes, his words striking chords deep within your heart. “But what if I can’t keep going?” you whisper, your voice trembling.

San’s expression softens even further, and in his eyes, you see a reflection of the determination and care you’ve been too exhausted to summon for yourself. “Then we take it one day at a time. One moment at a time. And when it gets too hard, we lean on each other. I’ll be here, as much as you need me to be. We’ll face this together, okay? You don’t have to do it alone anymore.”

We.

You pull back slightly, meeting San’s eyes with a questioning look. “Why are you so adamant about giving me these sincere, deep words? Why do you care so much about making me feel validated?”

A hint of sadness flickers in his eyes. “Because I know how it feels to watch something in your life slowly fade away, unable to do anything about it. It’s not the same as what you’re going through, but I get the gist of it.”

You tilt your head, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean by that?”

San lets out a soft sigh, gathering his thoughts. “Have I ever told you what else I was passionate about before I fully shifted my focus to astronomy?” he asks. You shake your head silently, eager to hear more.

“Well, besides my fascination with the stars, I used to love playing the piano. Not a single day went by without me playing it. During the day, I’d spend hours at the piano, and at night, I’d lose myself in the sky. Music was everything to me. I loved the way each note could convey a world of emotions, how a simple melody could touch hearts and tell stories.”

San’s eyes light up with the memory, a small smile forming on his lips. “There was something magical about the way my fingers danced across the keys, creating harmonies that felt like they were coming straight from my soul. The piano was my escape, my sanctuary. When I played, the world around me would fade away, and it was just me and the music. I felt connected to something greater, something pure and beautiful.”

You nod, imagining a younger San with a passion for music as vibrant as his love for the stars. “So… why did you drop that passion?” you ask softly.

San's gaze shifts to the distance, his voice taking on a heavy tone. “It’s not easy to hold onto a passion for something you know you’re going to lose the ability to fully experience.”

Confusion clouds your expression, urging him to continue.

He sighs, a heavy breath escaping his lips. “When I was a teenager, I was diagnosed with a condition that would eventually lead to complete deafness. It’s progressive, meaning my hearing would deteriorate gradually over time until it was completely gone. Knowing that, knowing I’d one day lose the ability to hear the music I loved, it broke me. Playing the piano started to feel like a cruel reminder of what I was losing.”

So that’s why you saw him at the hospital by the reception weeks ago.

San’s words hang in the air, each one sinking deep into your heart. The weight of his experience, his loss, mirrors the feelings you’ve been grappling with—you weren’t far different from each other, it turns out.

“I remember the day I found out,” San continues, his voice tainted with a deep sadness. “The doctor sat me down and explained that my hearing would gradually decline until I couldn’t hear anything at all. I was devastated. It felt like my entire world was crumbling around me. The thought of never being able to hear the music that had been such a vital part of my life was unbearable. I cried for days, maybe weeks. I didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to accept that something I loved so much could be taken away from me.”

He pauses, collecting himself. “So then, I stopped playing the piano. Every time I sat down to play, all I could think about was the silence that awaited me. It was too painful to face. I felt like a part of me was dying, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

You look at him, seeing a reflection of your own struggle in his story. “How did you keep going, knowing that?” you ask in a soft tone similar to the one he uses all the time whenever he’s talking to you. “How did you overcome that and stay so… positive?”

San’s smile is bittersweet, filled with a resilience that you find both inspiring and heartbreaking. “By finding new ways to connect with the world. At first, it was incredibly hard. I felt lost and hopeless. But I realized that I couldn’t let my condition define me. I had to find other things that brought me joy and fulfillment. That’s when I turned to the stars. The universe is vast and endless, filled with mysteries and wonders that don’t rely on one sense alone. It gave me hope and a way to cope with my reality.”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes locking onto yours. “I also learned to lean on the people around me. I talked to the people I held close to my heart about my fears and struggles, and their support made a huge difference. I allowed myself to grieve what I was losing, but I also focused on appreciating what I still had. And as time went on, I found a new sense of purpose in helping others who were going through their own battles. Sometimes, just knowing you’re not alone can make all the difference.”

San’s gaze softens, and he takes your hand gently in his. “And to answer your question earlier, the reason why I genuinely want to help you is because I know what it’s like to feel lost and alone. And because I believe that even in the darkest times, there’s still a flicker of light. You deserve to find that light, to feel that hope. And if my words can help you see that, then it’s worth it.”

A flicker of light.

“Do you think you’ll ever reconsider picking up the piano again?” you ask, a hint of curiosity in your voice.

San shrugs lightly, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe someday, but in the meantime, I don’t really want to do that. For now, I’m content with my memories. Besides, I’ve found new passions to focus on.” His tone is casual, but there’s a hint of lingering sadness. In an attempt to lighten the mood, he asks, “Why? Do you have a favorite piece you’d like to hear me play?”

A soft smile appears on your lips as you respond, “My favorite piece is Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2.”

San’s eyes light up with recognition and delight. “Really? That’s also my favorite piece to play back when I was a child,” he says, his smile widening.

Seeing San’s happiness brings you a sense of joy you haven’t felt for pretty much almost your entire life. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you realize that his happiness has a profound impact on your own mood.

Wanting to delve deeper into that positivity, you decide to ask him more about his passion for playing the piano. “Can you tell me more about your time playing the piano?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.

He raises an eyebrow, surprised but pleased by your interest. “Are you sure about that?” he asks, a gentle smile on his lips.

You nod eagerly. “Yes, I’m sure. Tell me anything about it. Your favorite memories, your love for music, all about it.”

San’s expression softens, and he takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “Alright,” he begins, his voice carrying a nostalgic tone. “Well, I started playing the piano when I was around five years old. My parents noticed I had a natural inclination towards music, always humming tunes or tapping rhythms with my fingers. So, they got me a small keyboard to play around with, and tell you what—I fell in love with it.”

He pauses, a wistful smile on his face as he recalls the memory. “I remember the first time I played a complete piece. It was ‘Für Elise’ by Beethoven. My hands were so small, barely able to reach all the keys, but the feeling of bringing music to life was incredible.”

You listen intently, drawn into his story. “What other pieces did you love to play?”

San’s eyes light up. “Oh, there were so many. ‘Moonlight Sonata,’ ‘Clair de Lune,’ and of course, ‘Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2.’ Each piece had its own story, its own emotions. Playing them was like telling a tale without words.”

He hums to himself, his expression turning more reflective. “But it wasn’t just about playing the notes correctly. It was about feeling the music, letting it flow through me. There were times I’d lose myself completely, hours passing by without me even noticing.”

His enthusiasm is palpable, and you find yourself smiling. “What’s your favorite memory associated with the piano?” you ask.

San’s smile widens. “There was this one time, during a school recital. I was about ten years old, and I played ‘Rhapsody in Blue’ by Gershwin. It was a challenging piece, but I’d practiced for weeks. When I finished, the applause was deafening. My parents were in the front row, beaming with pride. That moment felt like magic, like I was on top of the world.”

His eyes sparkle with the memory, and you can’t help but feel his joy. “That sounds amazing,” you say softly.

“It was,” he agrees, his tone warm. “Music was my escape, my solace. It was where I could express myself fully, without fear or judgment. Even now, though I can’t play as I used to, those memories bring me comfort.”

You nod, finding yourself feeling gravely touched by his experiences. “Thank you for sharing that with me, San. It means a lot.”

San’s smile is gentle, as always. “And thank you for listening. Revisiting those memories every once in a while helps me remember the beauty in life despite its challenges.”

Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you remember something you probably should have asked earlier. “Hey… what were you doing here tonight, anyway?”

He chuckles, looking out at the night sky. “This place is my little escape. It’s another spot I go to when I need to clear my head. The park is great during the day, but this cliff... it has a clear view of the night sky, and you know how much I love astronomy. It’s windy, peaceful, and quiet here. No one else knows about this place—well, except for you now.”

He pauses, then adds with a playful grin, “I guess this is now a place only the two of us know.”

San checks his phone and sees the time: 3 AM. He turns to you, concern evident in his eyes. “It’s getting really late,” he says gently, his voice a soft whisper in the quiet night. “We should probably head home. The streets aren’t really the kindest at this hour. It’s not safe to stay out much longer.”

As his words sink in, reality sets in as well. You suddenly realize you ran here without considering how you would get back home. Embarrassment washes over you, and you look down at your bare feet, feeling foolish. “I... I don’t actually know the way back home. I just ran here without thinking,” you admit, your voice small and filled with regret.

San’s reassuring smile does little to ease your embarrassment, but it does bring some comfort. “I figured as much,” he says, glancing at your bare feet and nightclothes. “Do you know your parents’ phone number?”

“Yeah, why?” you ask, puzzled and a bit hesitant.“I’ll call them for you,” San replies. “You can explain everything to them. It’s safer this way.”

Panic rises within you, your mind racing with the possible reactions your parents might have. “No, no—I can't. They don’t know I ran away. They might be awake, looking for me. I just…” you trail off, your voice carrying a hint of guilt.

Sensing your fear, San places a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch calming. “It’s okay,” he reassures you. “I know the decision you made wasn’t the best, but it was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Your safety is what’s important right now. If your parents are upset, it’ll pass. Their primary concern will be getting you home safely. Trust me.”

His calm demeanor and understanding words slowly convince you. Reluctantly, you take his phone and dial your mother’s number, your hands shaking slightly. Almost immediately, she picks up. “Mom…?”

You can hear the worry in her voice as she asks, “Oh my, oh my—darling! Where are you? Are you okay? Are you safe? Where did you run off to?”

“Mom, please calm down. I’m safe,” you say, trying to soothe her. “I’m about to head home now.”

“Okay, okay… where are you?” she repeats, her voice thick with concern and a touch of desperation. “I’m with San,” you say, hoping the name brings some comfort and reassurance.

“San?” your mother echoes, confused and worried.Your father, who is also listening in, seems to recognize the name. “San, the boy from the observatory and the park?” he asks, his tone shifting from worry to recognition.

San leans in, speaking into the phone with a calm and respectful voice. “Hello, Ma’am, Sir. Yes, it's me. I’m with your daughter, and she’s safe, please don’t worry. I’ll take her home now.”

Your parents express their gratitude, their relief palpable through the phone. “Thank you so much, dear. Please be safe,” your mother says before hanging up, her voice filled with gratitude and relief.

You look at San, a mix of gratitude and confusion on your face. “San, you don’t have to take me home, really. You’ve done more than enough by just being here. I can—”

He cuts you off with a small smile on his lips. “I insist. There’s no way I’ll let you walk home with bare, bruised feet. And you did mention earlier that you don’t even know where this place is, let alone how you got here. So let me, okay? Don’t stress yourself out.”

You find yourself in awe with how he was able to shut your mild stubbornness down in a way so gentle as if he was trying to explain to a kid why inserting a fork in an outlet isn’t a good thing to do. So, without a word, you just nod.

As you both stand up, San notices you shiver slightly. Without a second thought, he slips off his dark brown leather jacket and gently drapes it over your shoulders, revealing the plain black shirt he wore underneath.

“But what about you?” You ask, glancing at his now bare arms. “Won’t you get cold?” San shakes his head, offering a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me. You need it more than I do right now.”

You nod, pulling the jacket tighter around yourself. Just as you’re about to take a step, a sharp pain shoots through your foot, causing you to hiss in discomfort.

San’s eyes immediately drop to your bare, bruised feet. “Let me help,” he says softly. Turning his back to you, he crouches down slightly. “Hop on,” he urges.

You hesitate, feeling a bit shy about the whole situation. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden.” San looks over his shoulder, his eyes filled with gentle insistence. “I’m sure. It’s the best way to keep your feet from getting worse.”

Reluctantly, you wrap your arms around his neck, and he lifts you effortlessly. As he starts walking down the cliff, he moves with deliberate care, making sure each step is steady and safe.

“Where do you live?” he asks once you’ve reached the flat ground of the unfamiliar streets. He nods in recognition when you give him your address, thankful that he knows where the street is. The walk is silent but not uncomfortable. The night air is cool and the city is quiet, offering a moment of calm after the chaos.

As he continues walking, his pace steady and sure, you start to feel your eyelids grow heavy. Exhaustion from the night’s events begins to take over, and before you know it, you’ve fallen asleep, your head resting against his shoulder. San notices your soft snores and adjusts his steps to be even more careful, as he wants to make sure you get the rest you clearly need.

When San reaches your street, he notices a worried couple near your house. Drawing closer, he recognizes your parents, who, in turn, recognize him. Their faces flood with relief as they rush toward him, tears streaming down their cheeks.

“Oh, thank you, thank you so, so much,” your mother sobs, her voice thick with emotion. “You kept her safe. We can’t thank you enough.”

San offers a gentle smile and carefully shifts to let your father lift you from his back. Your father cradles you tenderly, carrying you inside with palpable relief. Your mother and San remain outside, just by the door.

“Where did you find her?” your mother asks, her voice still trembling. San takes a moment before replying, “I found her stargazing at a cliff I visit every night to unwind.”

Your mother nods, understanding. “I woke up with a terrible feeling. When I went to check on her, she was gone, and the window was open. I was so scared she might do something... drastic. She’s been in so much pain, especially after the news today. Knowing she only has a month left... it’s unbearable. I just want to give her a life without worries, but I feel so helpless.”

She holds back a sob, her eyes welling with tears. “I love her so much. She’s my whole world. Seeing her suffer like this, knowing there’s nothing I can do to take her pain away... it breaks me. Every day, I wish I could trade places with her, take away her illness, her pain. But I can’t, and it’s the most helpless feeling in the world. I try to stay strong for her, to show her how much I care, but sometimes I wonder if it’s enough. If she truly knows how much she means to us, how much we would do anything to see her happy, healthy. I wake up every night fearing for her, praying for a miracle, wishing she could live the life she deserves. It’s just... so hard."

San listens intently, his heart aching with empathy as he absorbs your mother’s words. He sees the deep lines of worry etched into her face, the way her hands tremble slightly with emotion—and it brought him a sense of pain knowing he’s now aware of the intensity of the pain both sides of your family felt.

“Your daughter is incredibly strong,” he begins softly. “I know it must be hard to see it sometimes, especially with everything she’s been through. But the fact that she continues to wake up each day, to face her illness and all the pain it brings, says so much about her spirit. Despite all the reasons she has to give up, she’s still here. She’s fighting a battle most of us can't even begin to understand.”

He pauses, glancing towards your bedroom window that your father had now shut close. “There’s a resilience in her that’s rare. Even tonight, when she felt lost and overwhelmed, she found her way to a place that brought her comfort—the stars. That takes a kind of inner strength and determination that not many people have.”

San looks back at your mother, his gaze empathetic and earnest. “And it’s clear where she gets that strength from. She’s had you and her father by her side, showing her what it means to love unconditionally, to fight for those you care about. That kind of support and love is powerful. It gives her the foundation she needs to keep going, even when things seem impossible.”

“Your daughter is a testament to the human spirit’s capacity for endurance. She’s facing something that would break many, yet she’s still standing. And that’s not something to take lightly. It’s something to be incredibly proud of.”

San’s words hang in the air, filled with sincerity and respect. Your mother looks at him, tears still glistening in her eyes, but now there’s a spark of hope and recognition. She nods slowly, understanding the depth of what he’s saying.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her voice choked with emotion. “Thank you for seeing her strength, for being there when she needed someone. It means more than you could ever know.”

San gives a small, reassuring smile. “It’s the least I could do. She’s an extraordinary person, and she deserves to know just how remarkable she is.”

—

The concept of unwinding has never been one to be easy to grasp for you.

You’ve been told it doesn’t hurt to try countless times, but the truth is that it does. It does hurt, and it hurts like a poisonous rose thorn piercing right through your heart. You’ve tried. You’ve tried to forget about the impending doom surrounding your life whenever you feel like it’s what has to be done in order to uplift your spirits, whether temporarily or not. You’ve tried to find it in you to make an effort to light up a dusty torch of hope in the middle of the void of despair. You’ve tried to focus on what you have now rather than dwelling over what you’ll have left in the future.

Why? Because it works for everyone else. The saying that goes “you only live once” is enough to push them to test the waters of their limits and fly beyond their borderlines. The thought of an opportunity no longer passing by once they ignore it when it first shows up is enough to knock it into their heads that they need to make the most of what they’re being given now, knowing they might never be able to have it again. But for you? Nothing has ever worked out well.

Until you met Choi San, at least.

Ever since he first spoke to you about facts regarding this year’s meteor shower sounding like a stuck-up science professor who’s a little in too deep with his profession for everyone’s liking, changes in the way your world spins have occured. Changes that were so subtle you’ve failed to notice it until they were all piled on top of each other—much like the slow process of a build-up of a painting that starts off with weird brush strokes you’d think wouldn’t look good if put together at first.

At first, his words were like bullets trying to make their way through a bulletproof vest. If anything, at some point, you even wondered if he was out—whether of his mind or of touch with reality—because surely a person cannot be that motivated to seek positivity in a world so cruel.

But as seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, days into weeks, the process of it all passes by like a blur and the next thing you knew was you were curious of the bliss of hope enough to wish you could dip at least a finger into his universe, just to see how your life could’ve been, had you not been so adamant to avoid optimism like it’s the plague.

Then one thing led to another, and now you’re unsure whether you want his world or want to be in his world.

Which is precisely why you’re now sitting on an all too familiar bench at the park in hopes of catching a glimpse of the person that pulled you into coming here.

You no longer trust yourself enough to wander off all alone again because you know what happened the last time you tried to commit such a thing. So then, you sit here, silently waiting, even with no guarantee that he’ll magically show up. He could be anywhere—another town, another place, maybe even sleeping. But at this point, it no longer matters much to you. You’ve come to see him as a guiding light, and you want to bask in his radiance as much as possible.

Lost in your thoughts, you’re jolted back to reality by a voice calling your name. Looking up, you see San approaching. “San,” you say, your tone coming off perhaps a little too cheerful than what you wanted to let on. As you shift to make room for him beside you, he sits down, a reassuring presence in the quiet of the morning. “What brings you here?” he asks, curiosity evident in his eyes.

You offer a small smile, one that you’re certain was enough to mask up your blatant lie of a reason. “You mentioned this was a place you come to clear your mind. I thought I’d give it a try, too.”

San’s expression softens, his heart melting at your words. “Is it working so far?” You glance around, feeling a sense of peace you hadn’t quite expected. “Yeah, it is,” you admit, meeting his gaze.

San grins. “You know, I also mentioned that I sometimes try new things to unwind.” You tilt your head, intrigued. “Yeah…?” you trailed off, sensing that there was a catch to his words.

He shrugs, looking around the park. “I mean, you could try that out as well, don’t you think?” he says. His smile became even wider as he gave the suggestion, the shape of his eyes turning into thin crescents, and it reminds you of a cat yawning.

“Ice skating, pottery painting, going to the arcade,” he begins, listing activities with genuine enthusiasm. “Maybe even visiting museums and just exploring different parts of the city.”

Your eyes widen slightly as you consider the possibilities. “That sounds... fun,” you say, a bit surprised at your own interest.

“It really is,” San assures you. “And it might help you find something you enjoy, something that gives you a break from everything.”

And that’s exactly how you spent the following days.

The morning after your not-so-coincidental meeting at the park, San showed up at your parents’ house to get their permission to take you ice skating. You were still asleep when he arrived, so you were completely unaware of his plan. When you finally woke up and went downstairs, you found San chatting happily with your parents in the living room. Letting out a startled shriek, you bolted back to your room, convinced you were hallucinating.

Three gentle knocks came from the other side of your door. “Hey, it’s just me,” San’s familiar voice called softly. Hesitantly, you cracked the door open, peeking out at him. “Are you real…?” you asked, reaching out to touch his face for a brief moment.

San’s cheeks turned a bright red as he laughed, covering his face. “I’m as real as I can be,” he assured you, a bit amused. You blinked at him, still processing his presence. “What are you even doing here?” you managed to ask.

“I planned to take you to go ice skating today,” he explained with a smile. And before you could speak up about your doubts of whether you’d be allowed to go outside or not, he beat you to it. “I already got your parents’ permission, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

Before you could respond, he added, “I’ll wait for you downstairs. Take your time to get ready.” He stepped back, allowing you to close the door and gather yourself.

When you finally went down the stairs, you felt a little more put-together than usual. Your parents were quick to compliment your appearance, and San, though a bit late, managed to stammer out, “You look beautiful.”You didn't catch it, but your parents did, exchanging knowing glances. “What?” you asked, and San repeated himself, louder this time but somehow more bashful. “You look really beautiful.”

At the ice skating rink, you nervously stared at the skates in your hands. “You know what, San, maybe this isn’t a good idea…” you murmured, anxiety creeping in.San already had his feet settled down on the ice, extending his hand toward you. “I’ve got you, okay? I promise I won’t let go,” he reassured you with a gentle smile.

At first, you nearly fell over multiple times, your grip on San’s hands growing tighter and tighter until it reached his forearms, then his shoulders. At some point, you both failed to notice, but your arms ended up wrapped around his waist, and your face was buried in his chest out of sheer fear.

San, feeling your trepidation, gently motivated you to let go gradually and trust him. “Don’t be scared, I’m here. I’ll catch you if you fall, alright?”

And although you don’t trust yourself, you certainly do trust San. You took a deep breath and slowly let go of his waist, immediately clutching his forearms for support. He skated backward, guiding you as you learned to move your feet. Step by step, you started to get the hang of it. San’s face then lit up with a proud smile.

“You’re doing great!” he cheered. “Do you think you’re ready to try it on your own?”

Slowly, you nodded. San released you from his hold but kept his hands out, ready to catch you if you needed it. To his surprise and your own, you started skating smoothly. The initial heartwarming moment quickly turned playful as you began to chase him around the rink, laughing and shouting, “If I catch you, you’re a loser!”

San chuckled, skating just fast enough to keep a fair distance. “We’ll see about that!”

For the next day you spent together, you two decided to try pottery painting. As you settled at the table with your blank ceramic pieces in front of you, you asked San if he had a picture of Byeol on his phone. Despite his confusion, he obliged, scrolling through his gallery before handing you his phone with a picture of Byeol displayed. You both decided to put up a makeshift cardboard barrier between you to keep your paintings a surprise until you were both finished. With brushes in hand, you began to paint, each absorbed in your creative process.

When it was time for the big reveal, San removed the cardboard piece, proudly displaying his bowl. He had painted a breathtaking night sky filled with stars and the Orion constellation, knowing it was your favorite. On the bottom half, there was a cliff with two shadowy figures sitting side by side. “That’s us!” he said, flashing his signature cat-like smile that you’ve grown to admire. His depiction of your special spot touched your heart deeply, and you felt a lump in your throat as you fought back tears.

Then it was your turn. Nervously, you showed him your bowl, which featured a detailed painting of Byeol. San’s eyes widened with surprise and delight. He quickly took the bowl from you, examining the well-crafted details. “How did you manage to make her look even cuter? You did so good at this!” he praised, clearly impressed. And by the end of the day, you both decided to switch bowls as a keepsake of the memory.

The following day was spent having fun at the arcade. As soon as you both stepped inside, your eyes locked onto a claw machine filled with Sanrio plushies. You’d always wanted to try your luck at one of these machines, and the sight of the plushies sparked your excitement. Tugging on San’s shirt, you eagerly pointed to the machine. Before he could even ask, you grabbed his hand and pulled him towards it.

Peeking through the glass, you marveled at the assortment of cute plushies. A particular My Melody plush holding a strawberry, adorned with a red ribbon atop its head, caught your attention. “Look! I want that one,” you told San, pointing it out.

Without needing to be told twice, San inserted a coin into the machine. With expert precision, he maneuvered the claw and, on his first try, managed to snag the plushie. As the plushie dropped into the chute, San retrieved it and handed it to you with a triumphant smile. You squealed with delight, hugging the plushie tightly before impulsively wrapping San in a hug. Realizing what you were doing, you quickly pulled away, embarrassed. Little did you know, San wished the hug had lasted longer.

Next, you decided to try the dance machine. San insisted it would be fun, even if you both ended up looking ridiculous. As the music started, you both tried to follow the dance steps on the screen. You found yourself laughing uncontrollably at San’s exaggerated moves and his attempts to keep up with the fast-paced rhythm. Despite the occasional stumbles and missed steps, San’s determination to get it right made you laugh harder, and your shared laughter echoed through the arcade.

Afterward, you moved on to a basketball shooting game. San challenged you, confident he would win. “Prepare to lose,” he teased, smirking. Surprisingly, you gave him a run for his money, matching his score shot for shot. The competitive energy between you sparked playful banter and laughter. In the end, you narrowly lost, but San graciously declared you the winner of his heart, making you blush.

Next on your list was a visit to an art museum, a stark contrast from the loud arcade. The serene atmosphere offered a different kind of beauty, one that you both found captivating. As you wandered through the halls, you stopped frequently to admire various artworks—some by renowned artists and others new discoveries for you.

At one point, while you were deeply engrossed in a painting, San, standing behind you, quietly snapped a photo of you. He was about to take another when you turned around, smiling gently at him. Caught off guard, your face quickly turned to embarrassment as you walked over to him, covering your face and demanding to see the photo, fearing it might have caught you in an unflattering candid moment. However, to your surprise, the photo turned out beautifully.

Not wanting to be the only one captured candidly, you took his phone and insisted on taking his picture too. He protested, saying, “But if I know you’re taking a picture, it won’t exactly be candid, right?”

You waved off his objection, pushing him gently toward the artwork you were admiring. “Just act as if you’re admiring the painting,” you instructed. His shoulders shook as he tried to hold back his laughter, making you scold him lightly. Just as he turned to say something to you, you captured the perfect moment—his eyes closed in a genuine, joyful smile. Proud of the outcome, you showed him the photo. He smiled warmly, noting that you now had matching photos of each other.

Needless to say, you both spent the rest of the day not only admiring the artwork, but also one another.

Finally, the last item on your schedule was a simple yet meaningful stroll around the city. While it wasn’t exactly new to San, it was an entirely fresh experience for you, and he was more than eager to show you around and take you to places you had never visited before.

The first stop was a cozy cafe called ‘Heavenly Brews,’ a place he frequented and cherished. The signage outside was inviting, and inside, the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted you. San mentioned that one of his college friends worked there, and sure enough, behind the counter was a young man your age with long hair, busy making drinks. After a pleasant visit, where you enjoyed some of the best coffee you’d ever had, you left the cafe to explore more of the city.

As you walked, you passed by a lively tavern. The door was ajar, and you could see a bard passionately singing on a small stage, accompanied by a customer who seemed to be enjoying a spontaneous duet. The scene was vibrant and full of life, and it brought a smile to your face.

Continuing your journey, you noticed a large billboard featuring a famous football player. San noticed your curiosity and mentioned that he knew the guy personally. Surprised, you asked, “Really?” He nodded, explaining that the athlete on the billboard was the star of his college’s football team, and San himself had been part of that team too. This revelation added another layer to the fascinating person San was turning out to be.

You spent the rest of the day with him, walking through various streets and alleys, as he pointed out his favorite spots—places he had fond memories of and hoped to share with you. He mentioned wanting to visit all these places with you again, filling his voice with genuine enthusiasm.

Yet, despite his excitement, a pang of sadness tugged at your heart. The looming reality of your limited time made it hard to share his enthusiasm fully. Nevertheless, you managed a nod and a small smile, saying, “Yeah, I’d... I’d love to.”

—

San had told you to get ready for a special evening earlier during the morning by calling you, hinting at a surprise but refusing to divulge any details. “You’ll see,” was all he said as if wanting to leave you on a cliffhanger. He mentioned that your parents would drive you to the location, meaning they were in on the plan but remained tight-lipped about it. Confusion consumed you, but you got ready anyway, choosing to wear the dark red cardigan from your first meeting at the observatory. It held a fond memory and seemed fitting for the mysterious occasion.

As you walked downstairs, you noticed your parents waiting for you, their excitement evident. “What does San have planned?” you asked, unable to contain your curiosity.

They shared a knowing smile but refused to let you in on the details. Instead, they guided you gently to the sofa, their faces full of tenderness. “We just want to say how proud we are of you,” your father began, his voice thick with emotion and eyes glistening with unshed tears. He paused, seemingly collecting his thoughts, before continuing, “Despite everything you’ve been through, you’ve shown an incredible amount of strength and resilience. We see how hard it’s been, and yet, you’ve managed to keep moving forward. Your determination and courage are truly inspiring to us.”

Your mother, sitting beside him, reached out to take your hand, her grip warm and reassuring. Her eyes were shining with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. “And we’re so happy that you found San,” she said softly, her voice filled with emotion. “He’s been such a positive influence in your life. We’ve watched you grow so much with him by your side. You’ve learned to lean on him, and it’s beautiful to see how much joy and comfort he brings you. We couldn’t have wished for a better person to be with you during these times.” She squeezed your hand gently, as if trying to convey the depth of her feelings through that simple gesture.

You felt a lump form in your throat at their words, and just as you were about to ask them what’s tonight about for them to be so emotional, they stood up and gently ushered you to the car. “You’ll see soon enough,” your mother said with a soft smile.

The drive seemed to take forever, your mind racing with endless possibilities. When the car finally stopped, you found yourself at the base of a familiar cliff—the same one you had run to back then. As you stepped out of the car, you saw San waiting for you, looking even more breathtaking in his well-chosen outfit.

He greeted your parents warmly before they drove off, leaving you two alone. “You look incredible,” San said, his eyes practically sparkling with admiration. Blushing, you replied, “No, you do.”

“I thought I’d fix myself up a little since I want tonight to be a special moment,” he replied bashfully, making you tilt your head. “What’s up with everyone wanting to act strange today?”

San laughed, refusing to answer as all he did was take your hand in his before walking up the path, making sure you wouldn’t trip on anything throughout it. Just before reaching the top, he stopped in his tracks. “Stay still for a moment,” he said, moving behind you. You felt his hands cover your eyes, making you giggle in confusion.

“San, what are you doing?” you asked, half-laughing. “Just trust me,” he whispered. “I promise it’ll be worth it.”After a short walk, he finally asked, “Ready?”

You nodded, and he slowly removed his hands. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight before you. The top of the cliff was transformed into a magical setting. A blanket was laid out, surrounded by twinkling fairy lights strung from the trees. An assortment of treats and foods was spread out, and a telescope stood nearby—the same one from the observatory. There were also cozy blankets ready for use.

“San, this is… I don’t even know what to say,” you said, your voice full of appreciation as you looked around, the warm lights reflecting in your eyes.

He smiled, looking a little shy. “I just… I wanted to do something for you, something I knew you’d like.” Taking in every detail, your heart swelled with emotion. “You know me so well, don’t you?”

You and San sit comfortably on the picnic blanket, a cozy blanket draped over both of you. Although he had prepared separate blankets, you insisted on sharing his, and despite being initially caught off guard, he was quick to happily oblige. Your head rests on his shoulder, your hands wrapped around his arm, basking in the warmth and comfort of each other’s presence. The silence between you is soothing.

Suddenly, you lift your head from his shoulder, causing him to turn his head towards you immediately. “What’s the matter?” he asks, his voice laced with gentle concern.

You smile softly and say, “I’ve been thinking about what you said about knowing that pro football player on the billboard. You know, the one from your college team.”

“Ah, Wooyoung?” he replies, recognition lighting up his eyes. You nod. “Yeah, ever since you mentioned him, I’ve been curious about your college experiences, particularly the life you lived back then.”

San’s face lights up with a mix of nostalgia and amusement. “Well, Woo and I were practically inseparable during college,” he begins. “We were always up to something, whether it was football or just hanging out. Lots of professors absolutely hated seeing us together, cause they know that when we are, we’re always up to no good.”

“Are you still close?” you ask, intrigued. “Not as much as we used to be,” San admits with a slight sigh. “He’s a pro player now, so he’s quite busy. Plus, he’s in a different country at the moment. We still talk to each other through messages and calls every other day, but we don’t see each other often.”

A fond smile crosses his face as he recalls a particular memory. “Oh, you know, I remember helping him make a move on his crush back then. It was quite the operation, and now she’s his girlfriend. Funny enough, she’s the one who took the photo of him on the billboard since she’s a professional photographer.”

You laugh softly at the story. “Sounds like you had a fun college life.” San nods, a nostalgic smile on his face. “Yeah, it was a great time.”

As he speaks, you find yourself drifting into a daydream, wondering what life might have been like if circumstances were different. Would you have met San in college? Maybe you would have been one of the people cheering for him at his football games, or perhaps you both could have been like Wooyoung and his girlfriend.

San notices you spacing out and gently nudges your shoulder. “Hey, everything alright?”

You wave him off with a reassuring smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.” But just as you lean your head back on his shoulder, a sudden pang hits your chest. You wince slightly but brush it off, not wanting to ruin the moment.

San continues to share more stories from his college days at your request. He talks about the time he accidentally kicked a football into the opposing team’s coach’s face, causing quite a commotion. You can’t help but laugh at the mental image. He also recounts a grocery spree gone wrong, where he and his friends were kicked out within minutes because he broke a shopping cart trying to ride it.

He tells you about the week-long silent treatment between him and Wooyoung over stolen loot in a video game, and how they eventually made up after realizing how silly the whole thing was. His eyes light up with passion as he describes spending countless hours in the local library, devouring books about astronomy. Sometimes he’d stay so late that the librarian reserved a special table for him, where he often lost himself in the wonders of the universe.

Each story he tells paints a vivid picture of his past, filled with laughter, mishaps, and the simple joys of youth. As you listen, you feel a mix of admiration and affection for him, grateful for the glimpses into the life he lived before you met.

Just as you’re about to lean your head back on his shoulder, a sharp pang hits your chest. The pain is more aggressive this time, making you feel like you’re being strangled by an invisible force. Your breath hitches, and you clutch your chest, struggling to breathe.

San’s eyes widen in alarm. “What’s wrong?” he asks urgently, his voice filled with panic.“San, I can’t—I can’t breathe—San, I—” you manage to gasp out, each word a struggle.

Panic grips San as he checks you for any signs of what’s happening, all while trying to calm you down. “Just breathe, okay? I’m right here. You’re gonna be okay.”

But you know this isn’t an anxiety attack. The context and intensity make that unlikely. Tears stream down your face as you grab San’s hands, your voice trembling. “I don’t wanna die... I don’t wanna die yet... San, please... please...”

San’s face crumples with emotion as he realizes what’s happening. He doesn’t want to lose you. Tears pour down his cheeks as he holds your face in his hands, trying to comfort you despite his own fear. “You’re not going anywhere, okay? Stay with me.”

The pain in your chest begins to subside, but the reality of the situation sets in. You both know what this means. With tears still streaming, you cup his face, gently wiping away his tears. “It’s... it’s gonna be alright, San. It’s gonna be alright, okay?”

He shakes his head, his sobs growing louder. “No, it’s not. I can’t lose you. Not now.”

You smile softly despite the pain. “San, listen to me. You’ve given me so much. You’ve made me so happy. This... this isn’t the end. You’ll carry me with you, in your heart, always. I promise.”

He holds you tighter, his heart breaking as he feels your strength fading. The stars above blur with his tears, and all he can think about is how unfair this is. But in this moment, all he can do is be there with you, for you, until the very end.

You look up at him, a calm expression on your face. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. We... we’ve always been meant to end like this, anyway. I’m so, so sorry that I still let you into my world despite knowing that. I’m so sorry for being a burden, for taking your presence for granted, and not considering how you’d feel when the time for us to part ways finally comes.”

San shakes his head vehemently, his tears flowing freely. “No, no, don’t say that. You will never be a burden. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t regret entering your world one bit.”

Tears well up again, but you hold them back. “Still, I’m sorry. I’m sorry we have to end this way, I’m sorry I can’t live any longer to visit all your favorite places with you. I’m sorry we had to meet under these circumstances, I’m sorry we can’t live the life we both want to have. I’m sorry my fate has tainted our story. I’m sorry. But I... I want you to remember this.”

You let go of his hands momentarily, and he looks confused until you start signing the words, ‘you’ll forever be my star.’ His heart shatters even more.

“You learned that... for me?” he asks, his voice breaking with sobs.You nod with a smile. “For you.”

You take his hand again, your voice gentle. “I want you to remember that when you feel down, during the times you see yourself in a bad light, when you feel like you’re not doing well enough. Because even if there are days where you don’t feel like the best version of yourself, in my eyes, you’re still my star. The only star in the empty sky of my life.”

“When you reach your dreams, when your name is known enough to catch people’s attention, when you become the star of your field, I want you to look up there,” you say, pointing at the night sky, “and smile. Because I’ll be there, smiling back at you.”

You shift your weak body to lay your head on his lap while he gently strokes your hair. “I think I wanna stay like this for a while.”

A comfortable silence fills the air, broken only by San’s quiet sobs. As you start to feel your body shutting down, you hold his hand, looking up at him. “In another life?”

“In another life.”

—

San, now a renowned astronomer, sits in a sophisticated studio for an interview. His translator is seated beside him, ready to relay the questions in sign language. The interviewer begins by asking San about how his passion for astronomy started. For a brief moment, an image of you flickers in his mind—you had asked him the same question years ago at the observatory. Snapping out of his thoughts, he clears his throat, focusing on the question. His answer mirrors the one he gave you back then, detailing how a childhood fascination with the stars turned into a lifelong pursuit of knowledge.

The interviewer then inquires about how he feels regarding his success. While San provides a positive response, he can't help but bring you up. “If it weren’t for a certain person,” he starts, his voice tinged with emotion, “I don’t think I’d be here right now.” The interviewer asks for elaboration, and San recounts how he met you during a meteor shower. From the moment you expressed genuine curiosity about his dreams of becoming an astronomer, his motivation grew. “This person taught me that it’s okay to fall when you can’t fight anymore, that allowing yourself to be weak makes you stronger than pretending to always be strong.”

When asked if he’s still in touch with this person, San’s expression turns bittersweet. “I’d like to think of them as a meteor shower,” he says, his voice soft. “A passing light meant to remind me of the wonders of life, never meant to stay.”

Returning home, San finds himself gazing at the night sky through the glass windows of his penthouse. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded piece of paper—a letter you wanted him to receive after you had passed away. Your parents gave it to him during your funeral.

“Hello, San :)

I hope this letter finds its way to you. I don’t know when exactly my timer will run out of seconds to spare, so I’m not sure when you’ll receive this. Still, when you do, I hope you’ll find comfort in reading this, whether you’re feeling tired, frustrated, or when you’re not feeling anything at all.

First off, did you know that the average day on Pluto lasts for 153.6 hours long? You definitely already do, but for now, please pretend you don’t. I read this on a science website while searching up how to cook food in an air fryer—don’t ask me the correlation between those two things—and I just wanted to impress you with it.

On a more serious note, though, I don’t think you’re aware of how much of an impact you’ve left in my life. Before I met you that night at the observatory, it was like I was trapped in this huge bubble of emptiness that I couldn’t make my way out of. Each day was practically hell on Earth for me, and tell you what, it used to be so hard for me to be positive, let alone try. Then you came into the picture with no warning beforehand, and I don’t know when exactly the shift in my world occurred, but it was like there was a lost candle in the very back of my soul that you, somehow, managed to find and light up.

You’re a really cool person, you know? So cool I’m willing to overlook the fact that you always wear glasses when you don’t even have poor eyesight. Your glasses look good on you, though, so I guess I’ll count that as a valid reason. You have this sort of comfortable energy that’s more than enough to put me at ease, and all your words of wisdom are so genuine that even a (retired) pessimist like me had grown to keep them engraved in my mind. Not only are you a cool astronomy nerd, but you own a cat, too! You know, I really wish I could’ve met Byeol when I was still there with you, but I guess there’s a next time for everything, right? Maybe in a different life, Byeol would be my cat instead. Or, even better, we could team up to co-parent him. Doesn’t that sound like a nice reality to live in?

You know, I wish I could be there with you to witness your success. I bet you’re reading this after coming across an article about you that a journalist had published. Or maybe after an interview schedule. Who knows? The possibilities are endless.

I’m starting to get sleepy now, so I’ll end this letter here. If you’re out there, having a hard time, always remember that I’ll always be here for you, even if it’s not in physical terms. I hope your heart now feels a little lighter after reading this, San. I’m so, so proud of you.”

Droplets of tears soaked the letter, and San silently sobbed. Looking above, he sees a single bright star in the empty night sky, and when he managed to put a smile on his face, the star twinkled back to him in return.

Perhaps in another life, you’d be a permanent star and not just a fleeting meteor.

🪞— lividstar.

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Eleven: You Wonder why I’m Bitter

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 8.2k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ Alone and aching for the connection that once felt so natural, you reluctantly turn to an unlikely companion: Pompidou, who listens to you pour out all the longing you’ve fought so hard to bury. While you grapple with the emptiness left by Hongjoong’s sudden withdrawal, he, too, finds himself lost, wrestling with the very feelings he’s tried to deny. Haunted by memories and choices he can’t quite reconcile, Hongjoong is caught between the familiarity of the past and the confusing reality of the present.

a/n: was supposed to upload this on the 27th cause that’s my birthday but i just can’t wait any longer 😅 keep an eye out for the littlest of details because nothing is as it seems in this chapter :P lmk what you guys think!

tags: @beabatiny @babymbbatinygirl

First of all, I hate myself. Second of all, I hate myself. Oh, and did I already mention that I hate myself? I just don’t know what to do anymore! It feels like it’s been a whole decade ever since I last picked up a pen to scribble on this godforsaken journal… I wish I could just go back to the time I was writing the page behind the one I’m writing on right now and just cancel my flight to Paris. This is all so frustrating, you know? Fashion Week is nearing, and I am not prepared at all—no, not even a little. I’m supposed to be spending my hours inside the studio practicing runway walks and testing out facial expressions, but no! I’m way too afraid of crossing paths with Hongjoong to even think about the consequences of not taking my preparations seriously! And speaking of Hongjoong…

He’s driving me to the edge of my sanity. I don’t know what’s going on with him—okay, scratch that, I definitely do. I just don’t get why he’s acting so avoidant all of a sudden… I mean, like, okay, I would understand his unprovoked need for distance between us if we actually kissed that night, but we didn’t. The farthest step we were able to take was just him holding onto the sides of my face and me looking at his lips like I’m a starved dog looking at its first meal of the day before Wooyoung fortunately interrupted us—so why is he acting up?

He’s like one of those girls you’d befriend in highschool who’d show up on the hallways suddenly judging your entire soul on a random Wednesday, and I don’t like it. Seriously, what’s his problem? He made me accustomed to his usual sweet and caring persona, and all of a sudden, he wants to act like this? What have I done wrong? Wasn’t it literally him who initiated the… whatever I’m supposed to call what happened that night?

I’m just concerned, you know. It’s been two weeks, and yet he’s still avoiding me like I’m the plague. I haven’t been receiving any messages from him at all lately, either. Even Madame Dupont is asking me why she no longer sees the “small young handsome boy” waiting for me outside the apartment building while leaning against his car. Wooyoung’s been trying to persuade me into confirming his theory that Hongjoong and I are going through a lovers’ quarrel for three days now, too. And guess who’s the most troubled of them all? Seonghwa. He’s been doing his best to put us back into speaking terms for a while now, and I don’t know why—I swear I didn’t ask him to do that.

Everyone is worried. Everyone but him.

You know, this brings me back to that unrecognizable faceless guy I see in some of my blurry flashbacks. I remember him asking me how long I’ve been bottling up my emotions, and when I told him I’ve been doing so for pretty much my entire life, he told me to consider writing in a journal.

What does the unrecognizable dude have to do with Hongjoong and his unreadable behavior? Nothing.

I just noticed that it’s been a while since I last wrote a journal entry, and… it’s been a while since I last let my emotions unravel. I remember the words that came out of his mouth that day.

“When you can’t figure out what you’re feeling, or if you need to let it all out, the only thing you have to do is pull this out along with a pen, and from then on, you can start writing away. Let yourself get lost in your own world.”

You know what, in a way, I think he and Hongjoong actually have something in common. I know I can’t say much because I only have one memory of this guy, but he spoke with as much wisdom as Hongjoong does. Also… “let yourself get lost in your own world.” That’s honestly the most Hongjoong-ish advice someone could ever give, given how he himself gets lost in his own world of artistry, too.

I just wish he’d stop ignoring me. I can’t help but feel like this is all somehow my fault… Am I just hurting myself by expecting things to suddenly go back to the way they used to be?

As you closed your journal with a weary sigh, your eyes drifted to the dim glow of your bedside clock reading 2:37 a.m. The room was silent, save for the soft hum of distant traffic, yet you felt far from at peace. It was a night for sleep, yet your mind wouldn’t quiet; thoughts of Hongjoong twisted and turned within you, refusing to settle.

“Why does it feel like this?” you murmured, pressing your palms into your face, as if that could somehow soothe the ache in your chest. You longed for comfort, for answers, even for a brief respite from the confusion that had become your constant companion. “If only that faceless guy could telepathically whisper some words of wisdom to me right now…”

Two weeks had passed since you last shared any words with Hongjoong—two weeks where every glance, every passing moment, felt laced with an unspoken tension that only deepened the rift between you. It was all becoming painfully real, the shift so clear to everyone around you. But no one knew the truth—the moment you almost kissed, the silent proximity that had left you dizzy and wondering. Even Seonghwa, in his genuine concern, couldn’t know the pang of vulnerability that had filled that night, the fear and excitement mingling as you’d come closer than ever before.

Your mind flashed back to the other day when the ache of his absence had been sharpest. You passed by him in a hallway, hoping for a flicker of his usual warmth, his soft gaze that once reassured you of your place in his world. But he’d brushed past with such indifference—not even nodding to acknowledge your presence, a chill in his demeanor that left you hollow. And then he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the corridor, leaving you alone with a rising sense of loss.

Without thinking, you picked up your phone and opened your gallery. Photos of Hongjoong filled your screen, and your eyes drift over candid snapshots—some of you and Hongjoong working late in the studio, others of him laughing or looking thoughtful, moments caught by your camera that now feel like glimpses into another lifetime. There’s a picture of him outside your apartment building, waving you goodbye one evening. Another shot of him hunched over his desk in concentration, unaware that you’d snapped the photo from across the room. Then, there’s a particularly precious one of the two of you, taken in his office—which was likely Wooyoung’s doing.

As you scroll, an ache blossoms within you, spreading in slow, insistent waves that make your chest feel tight. You can feel the sting of tears welling up in your eyes, and it catches you off guard. Why now? Why does he, of all people, have this power over you? You swipe at the tears, frustrated by the sudden swell of emotion. It’s not supposed to be like this, you tell yourself. Hongjoong is supposed to be your friend, your mentor, the one person in Paris who helped you find your footing when everything felt foreign. But as the images blur beneath the glisten of unshed tears, you can’t help but wonder if that’s all he’ll ever be—someone whose warmth once felt like home, and whose absence now feels like a loss you’re not ready to face.

The soft scratching at your window pulls you abruptly from your thoughts. For a moment, you freeze, glancing back at the phone you’d just placed on your desk. Carefully, you grab your journal—a flimsy defense, maybe, but it’s better than nothing. Heart pounding just slightly, you step forward, inching closer to the window.

When you peek over, you’re met with a familiar sight: Pompidou, the resident stray cat who had made the apartment building his kingdom, sits with one paw pressed to the glass, his usual unamused expression aimed your way.

You exhale a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, feeling the tension drain from your shoulders as you let out a soft laugh. Setting your journal on the bed, you reach over to open the window, letting him slip inside with practiced ease. He slinks past you with the air of someone who owns the place and makes himself right at home, hopping onto your bed and circling until he’s claimed his spot in the center.

You sit beside him, running a gentle hand over his soft fur. It’s strange how much you missed him. For the past few weeks, your room felt emptier without his occasional visits—without that extra little creature who just… understood you, in a way. And now, with Hongjoong’s absence haunting you, Pompidou couldn’t have come at a better time.

The thought hits you harder than you expect: here you are, at your lowest, relying on a cat for comfort simply because the one person you’re used to confiding in has become distant, almost like a stranger. The ache in your chest intensifies, and before you know it, you’re lying down next to him, resting your head on the bed and gazing at his calm, indifferent eyes. It feels silly, pathetic even, to be speaking your heart to a cat, but in this silence, with no one else to turn to, you let yourself unravel.

“Pompidou,” you whisper, voice barely holding steady, “I… I don’t know what I did wrong. Everything was fine, wasn’t it?” Your fingers tremble as they thread through his fur, a warmth grounding you in the midst of your unraveling. “I don’t know how we ended up here. He’s always been there for me, and now… it’s like he’s vanished. And I’m trying, I really am, but every time I reach out, it’s like he’s miles away.”

A sharp breath catches in your throat, and you look up at the ceiling, fighting against the tears stinging your eyes. “It’s probably all my fault,” you confess in a whisper that breaks. “Maybe I was too much, or maybe I should have… I don’t know, said something differently, done something better. Maybe I shouldn’t have invited him to eat dinner that night so that…” A bitter chuckle slips out as you squeeze your eyes shut. “It’s funny, you know. All my life, I’ve been terrified of being alone, of people walking out… and now here I am, trying to be okay with him pulling away like it’s nothing.”

Pompidou shifts slightly, his warm body pressing into your side, a small reminder that he’s there, and he’s not leaving. You let your hand drop to your chest, feeling the dull ache that’s settled there. “I just miss him, Pompidou. I miss the way he used to look at me like I mattered. Now, he can’t even look me in the eyes. And I don’t know why I’m clinging to that, why I’m hoping he’ll suddenly turn around and go back to being who he was.”

The silence swallows you for a moment. “Maybe it’s because, deep down, I’m still the same pathetic teenager from Arcadia Bay who’s scared that she doesn’t deserve anything better. That she’s always going to be left behind, and this… this is just proof.” Your voice falters, words thick with pain you can no longer hold back. “And if he leaves, then maybe it’s what I deserve.”

“Maybe I was the one who left him in an alternate reality, and this is the price I have to pay for it,” you joke, but it only feels like a pathetic attempt to make yourself feel better.

The pain is so sharp it almost feels physical, a hollow ache that makes every breath feel heavier than the last. You close your eyes, fighting against the helplessness clawing at your insides, but the words keep pouring out, jagged and raw, as though voicing them might lessen the weight—even if it’s only to a cat who can’t respond.

“Do you know what’s worse?” you whisper, fingers clutching the fabric of your shirt over your chest as if you could hold yourself together by sheer will. “It’s that I can’t even be mad at him. I want to be—believe me, I’ve tried. I tell myself he’s the one pulling away, that he’s the one who’s changed, but then I start wondering… what if I pushed him to this? What if I’m the reason he’s slipping through my fingers?”

A soft tremor runs through your hands, and you curl them into fists, teeth gritted as you force the tears back. “I keep thinking… maybe he’s right to distance himself. Maybe there’s something broken in me, something that just drives people away. And the worst part is, I keep wishing he’d come back, like I’d somehow be enough if I could just—”

Your voice catches, breaking into a whisper as you bury your face in your hands, barely holding in the sob that threatens to spill out. “I just don’t understand. He was my safe place, Pompidou. For the first time in so long, I actually felt like I mattered. He made me feel seen. And now… now I feel invisible all over again, like everything we shared was just temporary, like it didn’t mean anything.”

Pompidou shifts closer, his soft purr rumbling beneath your fingertips as you stroke his fur, a small solace in the middle of this storm.

“I try to convince myself that I’m fine, that I can go on without him,” you continue, voice cracking as the words spill out unchecked. “But the truth is, I’m terrified. I’m scared that if he leaves… if he’s really gone, I’ll be alone again, just like before. And I hate myself for feeling this way, for being so… so weak.”

The tears finally break free, slipping down your cheeks in a silent flood. “What does that say about me? That I’m so dependent on him, that I can’t even imagine my life without him? I thought I was stronger than this, that I’d learned how to stand on my own. But now… now it’s like I’m right back to that scared, lonely kid I used to be, clinging to anyone who shows me a hint of kindness.”

You pull your knees to your chest, holding yourself as tightly as you can, as if you could somehow shield yourself from the emptiness swallowing you whole. “I can’t stop thinking that maybe this is all I deserve. That maybe I’m meant to be alone. Maybe he’s finally seeing me for who I am, and he’s realizing I’m not worth it.”

Your shoulders shake as the sobs escape, quiet and raw, each one cutting through you like glass. Pompidou curls closer, his little face pressing against your arm, as though he understands in his own way. But his silent comfort only deepens the ache, a reminder that the person you need more than anything isn’t here, and you’re left holding yourself together with nothing but frayed threads of hope.

With a shuddering breath, you finally admit the fear you’ve been trying so hard to ignore. “What if he doesn’t come back, Pompidou? What if this is it? I don’t think… I don’t think I can handle losing him. Not like this.”

Your voice drops to a whisper, the words coming slow and soft as you gaze out the window, eyes unfocused. “I just… I miss him, Pompidou,” you murmur, fingers absently tracing patterns against the sheets.

“I miss all the little things that made it feel like he was a part of me, like he was woven into my days without me even realizing it. I miss the way he’d send me random sketches, the ones that made no sense but made me laugh anyway, like he was letting me in on his little worlds. I miss… I miss how he’d always have this ridiculous drink order for me every time we’d meet up at the café where we switched up our notebooks with one another before we met for the first time. It’s like he knew exactly what I’d need, even if I didn’t.”

The memories wash over you, and you can’t stop the warmth from pooling in your chest as you picture those moments. “I wish we could go back to that time when things were… simple. When I could sit beside him without feeling like the whole world was shifting under my feet. When he’d laugh and look at me like I was… like I was something special, you know?”

Your voice trembles, and you tighten your grip on the sheets. “And the thing is… it was just easy with him. He’d be there, always making me feel like nothing could go wrong as long as we were together. He’d be there with his quiet, comforting presence, and I could just… be. I didn’t have to pretend or put on some mask. It was like he could see right through me, and somehow, he didn’t care about all the mess he found.”

You take a deep breath, the words spilling out like a plea. “I just want to go back, Pompidou. Back to before everything felt so fragile, before that almost-kiss, before this… this distance. I wish I could reach out and take it all back. I’d give anything just to have things feel normal again.”

Pompidou tilts his head, eyes blinking up at you, and you can’t help but laugh, a soft, broken sound that catches in your throat. “I know it sounds silly, doesn’t it? I mean, how could I expect anything to be the same after that? But I can’t help it, Pompidou. I want to go back to when he’d smile at me like that, when I didn’t have to wonder if I was the one pushing him away.”

You close your eyes, feeling the weight of each memory anchor you down. “I miss his laugh. I miss his stupid jokes. I miss the way he’d lean closer when he talked about his dreams, his voice getting all serious like he could see every detail in his mind. And I miss… I miss feeling like I belonged somewhere, like I belonged with him. I miss how he’d look at me with this warmth, like I was enough, just as I was.”

The words come out like a broken whisper, a confession you’ve been holding inside for far too long. “I can’t stop missing him. I wish… I wish I could go back to that last night before everything shifted. Before the night we nearly kissed, before I even realized what I felt. I wish I could’ve just stayed there, in that moment, without letting any of it change.”

You hug your knees, curling up as the ache settles deeper, heavier. “But I can’t. And now it’s as if I’m left with pieces of him in everything around me, and I don’t know how to put myself back together without him.”

You pull yourself up, exhaling slowly, and walk over to your desk. The room feels quiet, still heavy with everything you’ve let out, yet somehow emptier too, as if releasing the words has left you hollow. With a shaky hand, you pick up your phone and make your way back to bed, curling up beside Pompidou, who has already claimed his spot against your pillow. Settling into the blankets, you scroll through your contacts, your thumb hovering over Hongjoong’s icon.

It’s just his initials next to a simple photo he once sent—a candid moment he probably forgot about, something so ordinary that it’s precious now. The way he looked when he didn’t realize anyone was watching: a slight smile, eyes softened by something he found funny, maybe even a bit endearing. The sight makes your chest tighten, and you let yourself scroll up, reading through old conversations like leafing through the pages of a treasured book.

Each message brings back flashes of shared laughter and late-night ramblings, little moments where time seemed to pause, and it was just the two of you—untouchable, safe. You linger on a message he sent on a rainy afternoon, a random joke he thought would cheer you up. Your lips curl into a faint smile, but it’s bittersweet. There was a time when it was so easy, so effortless, like breathing. He had a way of knowing exactly when you needed a reminder that he was there. But now, that comfort feels distant, unreachable.

A tear slips down your cheek again before you realize it, and you hastily swipe it away, but the sorrow wells up again, slipping past your guard. As if sensing your pain, Pompidou extends a soft paw, resting it gently below your eyes, and you feel his fur against your cheek, grounding you in a way that words can’t. His small gesture tugs a quiet, breathy laugh from you, despite the ache in your chest. It’s as if he’s trying to catch your sadness, pulling it away piece by piece, his wide eyes fixed on yours with an empathy you can almost feel.

You let your head fall, hugging Pompidou close, allowing yourself to finally surrender to the pain and let it wash over you without restraint. The loneliness, the longing, the hollow spaces Hongjoong’s absence has left in you—all of it spills out as you clutch the feline tightly, letting his warmth and steady breathing lull you into a fragile sense of comfort. The room seems to blur, softening around you as the weight of everything you’ve been holding back presses into you.

The tears come faster now, unstoppable, and your quiet sobs fill the silence, raw and unfiltered. It’s just you and Pompidou, and for a moment, it feels like you’re not truly alone. There, in the quiet solace of your room, you cling to that small comfort, letting yourself feel every ounce of longing, letting yourself miss him—fully, desperately, hopelessly.

—

Meanwhile, Hongjoong stood in his office, the warm, nostalgic tones of “La Vie en Rose” playing softly from the record player behind him. His gaze fixed on the window, hands clasped tightly behind his back, and he fought to keep his emotions in check. Each note lingered in the air, pulling him deeper into the web of memories he was desperately trying to forget. This song, of all songs—he could still remember how it had been playing when the two of you had stood together in the flower shop, laughing over bouquets and trading light-hearted jokes as if the world beyond didn’t exist.

Part of him knew he could walk over and turn it off. The music was his to control, after all. And yet… he couldn’t bring himself to stop it. The melody was the last fragile thread that kept him tethered to you, a reminder of the warmth he felt in your presence, the comfort of knowing someone understood him.

The dim light from the city outside cast a soft glow over his office, illuminating the expanse of papers scattered across his desk, the outlines of unfinished sketches and hastily scrawled notes, all reminders of the whirlwind he’d buried himself in since he started pushing you away. Each corner of the room felt saturated with memories of you—and it was strange how a space that had once felt so alive now seemed hollow, absent of the warmth you’d brought into it.

He tried to focus on the skyline again, his eyes tracing the glittering lights of the city. It was an attempt to ground himself, to pull himself back from the turmoil inside him. But tonight, every bit of stillness he attempted felt false, every piece of composure barely hanging by a thread. All he could think about was you—the absence of your presence filling every empty space in his mind, as if refusing to be silenced.

He turned slowly from the window, allowing his gaze to wander over his desk. It was almost impossible to remember the last time he’d felt fully at ease in this room. The stacks of designs that had once held so much promise now felt like hollow accomplishments, each one only reminding him of the fire you’d helped him ignite. His eyes landed on a small pendant lying amidst the clutter. The flower encased inside had faded slightly, its once-vibrant petals softened by time. He picked it up, cradling it carefully in his hand, feeling a strange tenderness rise within him.

You’d given him that flower, pressing it into his hand with a shy smile as you murmured something about it bringing him luck. He could still recall the way your fingers had lingered against his, the brief but electric touch that had left him wondering if you felt it too. “For good luck,” you’d said, your eyes sparkling in that way they always did when you felt especially close to him.

Hongjoong swallowed, feeling a tightness in his chest as he held the pendant closer. How was it that something so small could carry the weight of so many memories? He closed his eyes, and the warmth of your smile flashed in his mind, as vivid as if you were standing beside him. But now, as he held the pendant, it felt heavier, like a tiny piece of the past he was terrified of losing forever.

In his mind, he slipped back to that night—the one that had started as an ordinary work session, yet had unraveled into something far more vulnerable. He could still feel the closeness of the room, the soft glow of the lamps casting long shadows as you both worked side by side, immersed in the quiet moment you shared.

You’d shared things that night that were never meant to leave the room. He could still hear your voice, low and hesitant, as you revealed the fears you held closest to your heart. “Being left alone,” you’d admitted, your words raw and unguarded. The truth of it had lingered between you, a quiet vulnerability that had shaken him more than he cared to admit.

When you turned the question back on him, he’d hesitated, feeling the weight of his own guarded secrets pressing against his chest. But in that quiet space, under the gentle glow of the lamp, he’d found himself opening up in ways he hadn’t allowed himself to in years. “Losing myself,” he’d whispered, his voice barely audible, but enough for you to hear. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Now, standing alone in his empty office, Hongjoong felt the irony of it all washing over him. He’d tried so hard to protect himself, to build walls so high that even you couldn’t reach them. But now, it felt as if he had developed a new fear bigger than losing himself—losing you.

A quiet knock on the door broke his reverie, and he tensed, slipping the pendant into his pocket as he turned. Wooyoung’s face appeared in the doorway, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of Hongjoong standing alone, the haunting strains of La Vie en Rose still spinning softly from the record player across the room.

Wooyoung’s eyes flickered to the player, where the melody had been looping for what must have been the better part of an hour. “Still here?” he asked quietly, a hint of concern threading his tone.

Hongjoong forced a slight smile, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Wooyoung stepped further into the room, his gaze sharp as it settled on Hongjoong. “You know…” Wooyoung began, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall, “the world can see how miserable you are. Including her—especially her.”

Hongjoong stiffened, the forced nonchalance slipping from his face as he turned away, staring intently at the record player as if it held all the answers he was struggling to find. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, the words feeling hollow even to his own ears.

“Hongjoong,” Wooyoung’s tone softened, a hint of exasperation breaking through. “I know you. I know how much you care about her. And I know you’re running from something you can’t outrun. But you’re not fooling anyone by pretending it doesn’t matter.”

Hongjoong’s jaw tightened, his mind racing with all the reasons he’d built to keep you at a distance. Each one felt logical, safe, a way to protect himself from something he couldn’t quite name. But here, with Wooyoung standing there, watching him with that steady gaze, he felt every layer he’d built start to unravel.

“I’m not pretending,” he said quietly, barely audible above the music.

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, his tone turning softer, almost pleading. “Then what are you doing, Hongjoong? Because from where I’m standing, all I see is someone too scared to reach for what he really wants.”

Hongjoong’s heart twisted painfully, Wooyoung’s words hitting far too close to home. He felt the weight of everything he’d tried to suppress rising within him, a tidal wave of emotions he’d buried so deeply he’d convinced himself they were gone. But Wooyoung’s words had brought them to the surface, and now, there was no escaping them.

A silence stretched between them, and Hongjoong’s gaze fell to the floor. In that moment, he felt utterly vulnerable, as though Wooyoung could see right through him, could see the aching desire he’d tried so hard to deny. He didn’t have to say it—Wooyoung already knew.

Hongjoong’s fingers were still curled around the pendant in his pocket when Wooyoung let out a quiet sigh, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. “So,” Wooyoung began, breaking the silence, “are you really going to stand here, pretending everything’s fine?”

Hongjoong’s jaw clenched, his shoulders tensing. He wanted to brush off Wooyoung’s words, to deflect with some casual response that would keep the carefully built walls intact. But his mind was a battlefield, each memory of you cutting through his defenses like a blade.

“Everything is fine,” he replied tersely. He didn’t meet Wooyoung’s eyes, focusing instead on a spot just beyond his shoulder.

Wooyoung’s brows knitted together, clearly unconvinced. “Right. That’s why you’ve been playing her favorite song on loop for the last hour. That’s why you’ve been holed up in here, avoiding anything that reminds you of her.” He shook his head, his tone equal parts exasperation and worry. “Hongjoong, you’re not fooling me. I know you, and I know you’re running from something—from someone.”

Hongjoong let out a low, frustrated sigh, finally looking up at Wooyoung. “Wooyoung, just drop it, alright?” He forced a tense smile, attempting to sound dismissive. “This… whatever you think is going on, it’s all in your head. We were just friends.”

But Wooyoung didn’t budge. “Friends?” He let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it, just the weight of disbelief. “You really want to go with that? Because the way you’re acting… it doesn’t look like you’re just missing a friend. You’re avoiding her like she’s a stranger, but then you’re here, playing her favorite song over and over, clutching onto that pendant like it’s the last piece of her you have.”

Hongjoong’s fingers instinctively tightened around the pendant, and he felt a pang of frustration rise within him. He didn’t want to admit that Wooyoung’s words struck too close to home. “I told you, it’s nothing like that,” he bit back, his tone sharper than intended. “You’re turning this into something it isn’t.”

Wooyoung’s eyes narrowed, his gaze not faltering. “Am I? Because from where I’m standing, you’re acting like a guy who’s desperately trying to convince himself of something he doesn’t even believe.”

“Wooyoung—”

“Hongjoong, you can’t keep lying to yourself.” Wooyoung’s tone softened, his voice carrying a gentleness that seemed to cut deeper than the words themselves. “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but I do know that you care about her. You’re not fooling anyone by pretending this distance is ‘better’ for either of you.”

Hongjoong’s patience began to fray, his frustration morphing into anger. He shot Wooyoung a glare, his voice rising. “It is better, Wooyoung. She… she deserves better. She doesn’t need to be pulled into whatever mess I am.” He paused, catching his breath, his anger mingling with something closer to desperation. “I’m not what’s best for her. And it’s better for the both of us if I keep my distance.”

Wooyoung’s expression shifted, his gaze hardening as he stepped closer, unwilling to let Hongjoong brush him off. “So, what? You think pushing her away, acting like she means nothing, is somehow good for her? You really think she’s better off without you?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong replied, his tone final, but the conviction in his voice was starting to waver.

Wooyoung gave him a long, scrutinizing look, and for a moment, the silence between them was thick with unspoken truths. Then, Wooyoung shook his head slowly. “You’re lying to yourself. And honestly? It’s pathetic, Hongjoong. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

The words hit Hongjoong like a slap, and a flash of anger surged within him, simmering beneath the surface. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered, his voice low and strained. “I’m doing this for her, so just… stop.”

But Wooyoung wouldn’t relent. “You’re not doing this for her. You’re doing this because you’re afraid. Afraid to admit how much she means to you. Afraid of what might happen if you actually let her in. Whatever you’re afraid of, whatever you think is keeping you from being with her… maybe it’s worth rethinking. Because if you keep running like this, you’re going to lose her. And then what?”

Hongjoong felt his control slipping, the carefully constructed barriers he’d built starting to crack under the weight of Wooyoung’s words. He clenched his fists, his gaze dropping to the floor as he struggled to keep his voice steady. “This isn’t about fear.”

“Isn’t it?” Wooyoung’s voice softened, a hint of understanding breaking through the frustration. “Hongjoong… I get it. You’re scared of losing yourself. Of losing control. But she’s not the one who’s going to make that happen. You are, by doing this. By trying so hard to keep her out.”

Hongjoong stayed silent, his chest tightening as Wooyoung’s words began to sink in. He wanted to deny it, to push back with the same conviction he’d clung to for weeks, but he couldn’t. Because deep down, he knew there was truth in Wooyoung’s words.

Finally, Wooyoung let out a sigh, his tone softening even further. “Listen, man. I don’t know what almost happened, or why you’re so determined to stay away from her, but you have to ask yourself… is this really what you want?”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, his mind flashing back to that night in your apartment—the feeling of your hand brushing his, the way your gaze had lingered on him, the unspoken tension that had nearly pulled him into something he couldn’t name. He’d wanted so badly to close that distance, to feel your lips against his, to let go of the fear and doubt that had held him back. But just as he’d leaned closer, Wooyoung’s call had snapped him out of the moment, bringing him crashing back to reality.

“Do you even understand how much she’s hurting, Hongjoong?” And there it was again—the harshness in Wooyoung’s tone. “Seonghwa told me she’s tearing herself apart over this. She doesn’t eat right anymore, and she barely even sleeps. She spends her nights lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering where things went wrong, wondering if she’s the problem.”

The words landed like a punch to Hongjoong’s gut, leaving him breathless. Images of you flashed through his mind—moments when he’d caught glimpses of your smile faltering, your laughter quieting, the spark in your eyes dimming little by little. He’d told himself it was just his imagination, that you were fine. But Wooyoung’s words shattered that illusion entirely.

“She thinks she did something wrong, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung continued, his voice filled with barely contained anger. “She actually believes she’s the reason you’re running. Every time you disappear, every time you pull away, she thinks it’s because of something she did. And the worst part? She doesn’t even blame you. She blames herself.”

Hongjoong’s fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as guilt clawed at him.

“Seonghwa told me she asked him if she was too much. Can you believe that?” Wooyoung’s voice cracked. “She actually thinks she’s too much for you. That she’s somehow burdening you, dragging you down. She’s convinced herself that if she were just… less, maybe you wouldn’t be running.”

Hongjoong’s breath hitched, a wave of nausea rolling over him as he realized the full extent of the pain he’d caused. You—who had always been so vibrant, so unapologetically yourself—were now questioning every part of who you were, trying to shrink yourself down to avoid scaring him away.

“She’s not even angry at you, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, his voice barely above a whisper now, each word a dagger aimed straight at Hongjoong’s heart. “She doesn’t hate you for this. She just… she thinks she’s not enough. Or that she’s too much. Either way, she’s convinced that she’s the problem.”

Hongjoong closed his eyes, his mind reeling. He could feel the anchor of your pain weighing down on him; He’d done this to you—turned you into a shadow of yourself, left you grappling with doubts and insecurities that weren’t yours to bear.

“You’ve been so busy hiding behind your own fears,” Wooyoung continued, “that you haven’t even stopped to consider what this is doing to her. You’re so terrified of being hurt again that you’re hurting her—over and over, every day, with every step you take away from her.”

Hongjoong opened his mouth to speak, to protest, but the words caught in his throat. What could he possibly say to justify this? How could he explain that he’d been running not to hurt you, but to protect himself? It sounded so selfish, so small in the face of everything you were going through.

“And you know what’s really twisted?” Wooyoung’s voice dropped, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. “She’d take you back in a heartbeat. Despite everything, she’d still look at you the same way she did before you started pushing her away. She’d still forgive you, still try to see the good in you, because that’s who she is. That’s how much she cares.”

Hongjoong felt something break inside him, a quiet, shattering realization that left him reeling. You would forgive him. He knew that. He could see it in his mind—the way you’d smile softly, the way your eyes would fill with understanding, even now. Even after everything, you’d welcome him back, arms open, heart exposed, waiting.

“She deserves better, Joong.” Wooyoung’s words were softer now, the anger replaced by a raw, unfiltered honesty. “She deserves someone who doesn’t make her question her worth. Someone who doesn’t make her feel like she’s somehow wrong just for being herself. And if you can’t be that for her… if you’re too wrapped up in your own fears to let her in… then you need to let her go.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened, a hollow ache spreading through him as he struggled to process it all. He didn’t want to let you go. He couldn’t. But the thought of holding onto you only to keep hurting you, to keep dragging you through his own tangled web of insecurities and fears—it was unbearable.

“She’s barely holding up. She hides it well, but Seonghwa can see it. He told me how she sits alone for hours, just staring off into space, like she’s lost something she can’t find. She keeps her phone close, hoping maybe, just maybe, you’ll reach out. But every time you don’t... it breaks her a little more.”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened painfully, each word slicing through him like a blade. He could see it so clearly now, every painful moment he’d forced you through. How you must’ve waited for messages that never came, must’ve spent countless nights wondering where things had gone wrong. The thought of you sitting there, lost in your own pain, while he’d been so focused on his own fears, was more than he could bear.

“And don’t think she hasn’t tried to talk to you.” Wooyoung’s voice turned sharp, accusatory. “Seonghwa told me how many times she’s wanted to reach out, just to make sure you’re okay, just to see if you’d give her even a scrap of reassurance. But every time, she stops herself. She doesn’t want to bother you, doesn’t want to seem needy. She’s holding back everything she feels because she’s afraid it’ll push you further away.”

Wooyoung’s eyes softened slightly, but the fire of his conviction remained. “You need to understand, Hongjoong. This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about her too. You’re hurting her, and if you don’t start realizing that, it’ll be too late. She’s going to break, and I don’t think she’ll come back from it.”

Hongjoong felt a cold wave of dread wash over him. The thought of you shattering into pieces because of his cowardice was unbearable. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, to say that he was doing this for you, for the both of you. But deep down, he knew it was a lie. He was only trying to shield himself from the fear of loss, the same fear that had haunted him since that girl from his past had walked away.

“I can’t… I can’t lose anyone again, Woo,” Hongjoong finally admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. “What if she sees me for who I really am? What if she realizes I’m not worth it?”

Wooyoung shook his head, frustration flashing across his features. “That’s where you’re wrong. She already sees you, and she loves you for all the parts you’re trying to hide. You think you’re protecting her by staying away, but you’re only pushing her further into despair.”

Hongjoong’s heart raced, a whirlwind of emotions colliding within him. “How do you know? How do you know she feels that way?”

“Because I’ve talked to Seonghwa, and he cares about her, Joong! He’s seen her cry over you. He told me she broke down one night, just sitting on the floor of her room, wondering why you were so distant. She kept saying she must’ve done something wrong. Do you want that for her? Do you want to be the reason she loses herself?”

The image of you curled up alone, tears streaming down your face while grappling with your worth, sliced through Hongjoong. The sheer guilt of it settled heavily in his chest, suffocating him. He had wanted to protect you, but in doing so, he had only hurt you more.

Hongjoong lingered in silence, the weight of his unspoken fears casting a shadow over the room. He could feel Wooyoung’s gaze on him, a

persistent pressure urging him to confront the thoughts he’d been too afraid to voice.

“What if…” The words caught in his throat, his voice strained with the vulnerability he couldn’t hide. “What if I take the next step, and she leaves? What if she ends up leaving just like—”

Wooyoung interrupted him by reaching forward, pressing his fingers gently but firmly to Hongjoong’s lips, shushing him with an authority that surprised them both. “I know what comes next, Hongjoong,” he murmured. “You don’t need to say it.”

Hongjoong stiffened, pulling back ever so slightly, a touch of annoyance flickering across his face. “You think it’s that simple?” he muttered, frustration bleeding into his voice. “You think it’s easy to just… forget?”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, though he held firm. “I think you’re holding onto something that’s long gone, Joong. And you’re letting it get in the way of something real.” He paused, leaning forward. “So what if the girl you loved back in middle school left you? You’re still letting her be the one who decides what happens now?”

Hongjoong’s mouth opened, then closed, his defenses crumbling under Wooyoung’s scrutiny. He could feel the words bubbling up, the excuses he’d used to justify his fears over and over, but this time, they didn’t come. The silence between them grew heavier, and he felt himself shrinking under Wooyoung’s eyes.

“It’s not about her,” Hongjoong finally managed, his voice a strained whisper. “It’s just… this was exactly how it started back then. The same moments, the same feelings, and then…” His voice broke, a haunted look creeping into his eyes as the memories clawed their way to the surface. “And then it all just fell apart the moment she left without a word.”

Wooyoung’s expression softened, his gaze filled with something close to sympathy, but there was no pity there, only an understanding forged through years of friendship. “Joong,” he said softly, leaning even closer as if he could bridge the distance that Hongjoong had placed between himself and everyone around him. “So what if some things feel familiar? They’re not the same person, are they? You’re not the same person, either.”

Hongjoong clenched his jaw, a flicker of anger sparking in his chest as he searched for a way to deflect, to deny the truth in Wooyoung’s words. “It’s… it’s not like that, Woo. You don’t get it.” His voice grew sharper, frustration edging his tone as he tried to hold onto the walls he’d built.

Wooyoung shook his head, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Really? Because it doesn’t look that way to me.”

Hongjoong looked away, his gaze hardening as he stared at the floor. “It’s not that simple, okay? You don’t know what it’s like to… to risk everything and then lose it.”

Wooyoung sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Hongjoong, I may not know exactly what you went through, but I do know one thing: you’re letting something from the past dictate your future. And that’s not fair. Not to you, and definitely not to her.”

Hongjoong’s shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him as he felt the weight of Wooyoung’s words settle over him. Part of him wanted to argue, to cling to the fears that had kept him guarded for so long, but another part—a part he’d buried deep—knew that Wooyoung was right.

“What if I let myself try?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his words laden with the weight of years of doubt and self-preservation. “What if… what if I take that risk, and she ends up leaving?”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened, and he leaned forward, resting a reassuring hand on Hongjoong’s shoulder. “Joong, if she’s really the person you believe she is… then maybe it’s a risk worth taking. Because people leave, yeah. They walk away. But the ones who matter, the ones who are meant to stay—they won’t go anywhere.”

“You’re saying I should just… trust that?” His voice wavered, the question more for himself than for Wooyoung, as if he needed to convince himself that he could still believe in something other than his own fears.

Wooyoung’s mouth curved into a gentle, understanding smile. “Yeah. Trust it. Don’t let something that’s already gone keep you from what could be right here, right now.”

“What if I let her in? What if I let her see the real me? What if it’s not enough?”

“Then you fight for her,” Wooyoung replied. “You show her every day that she’s enough. You fight for her instead of running away. You have to be brave enough to take the risk, Joong. And if she does leave, at least you’ll know you tried. You can’t live in the shadow of your past forever.”

“But what if she sees me as weak?” Hongjoong countered, bitterness lacing his tone. “What if she thinks I’m broken?”

“Then you show her that even broken pieces can fit together to make something beautiful,” Wooyoung shot back. “You’ve built this wall around yourself, but you’re just hurting the one person who’s tried to break through. You need to trust her. You need to let her help you. She wants to be there for you, but you have to meet her halfway.”

The truth of those words echoed painfully in Hongjoong’s mind. He had been running, terrified of the vulnerability that came with love, terrified of the chance that he could be left once more. But he could feel the edges of that fear beginning to fray under the weight of his guilt, unraveling with every word Wooyoung spoke.

“You can’t let the past dictate your present, Hongjoong,” Wooyoung said, his voice softer now, a mixture of empathy and frustration. “You can’t keep running away from what you feel. If you do, you’ll end up losing her, and it’ll be your fault.”

Hongjoong’s heart raced as he thought of you—how you had lit up his life in ways he never thought possible. How your laughter had become a soothing balm to his weary soul. He couldn’t keep ignoring the truth that was staring him in the face. The realization washed over him like a cold wave. “What am I supposed to do?” Hongjoong whispered.

“Fight for her, Joong. Show her that you’re not afraid. Be honest with her, and don’t let fear win this time.” Wooyoung leaned closer. “She deserves that much, at the very least. Fight for her—before it’s too late.”

“But what if it already is?”

🪞 — lividstar.

[lividstar]

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎Chapter One: A Change

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 9k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, first person is only used in your journal entries so don’t worry, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ Moving to Paris in order to leave your past in Arcadia Bay had been a long-term goal for a while now, and you were more than excited to finally have this dream of yours within your grasp. Of course, things won’t always turn out well consistently, and you had to be reminded of this in the worst way possible.

a/n: i’m having a huge struggle with figuring out how i’m supposed to conclude ‘sly fox, dumb bunny’ thus i decided to put it on hold for now. in order to compensate for that, allow me to introduce an entirely new series to keep you guys entertained <3 this was originally supposed to be oneshot but tumblr’s 1k block limit per post won’t allow that haha :’D still haven’t figured out how many chapters this will have in total but it will definitely be more than 2!

October 24th, 2018

If there was one lesson that struck me the most this year, it would definitely be the fact that in order to be able to move forward, making changes in your life are necessary, no matter how minor or major it may be. Maybe it could be something simple, like trying out a new restaurant different from the one near your house that you’ve been going to for pretty much your entire life, with the 0.5% possibility that you may cross paths with someone in the new place you’ll choose to visit, and the either lesser or bigger possibility that they may be the key to changing the way you view your existence.

Or maybe, it could be something as major as settling in a foreign setting to rewind the clock of your life right back to the very beginning—which is the change I am currently aiming for. I just feel like the opportunities that my hometown offers to me are way too restricted, you know? It’s like I don’t feel like I can push my potential to its very fullest in a place that isn’t big enough to withstand it. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I hate it here—in fact, Arcadia Bay is the only place I can call my home without having any second doubts about it. But that’s exactly the problem. It feels like a home with locked doors, and I don’t hold the keys needed for it to be unlocked.

So then, months ago, I decided to take the risk and grab the opportunity to fly to Paris. I don’t know why exactly I chose it out of all the other choices laid out in front of me, but there’s just something about it that captivates me—better yet, draws me in. When I was surfing on the internet, looking to see which places are the best choices if you want to move out and start a new life, I came across Paris, and once I did, I knew I couldn’t just continue scrolling to look for other options. It’s like I had to choose to go there and nothing else, if you catch my drift.

I’m currently writing this in the airport, waiting for my flight to arrive. And by the time I step foot into Paris, I’ll make sure to write an entry as soon as possible—if unpacking won’t take up too much of my time. I honestly can’t wait for Paris! I hope it goes the other way around, too :)

Letting out a sigh of relief, you clicked your pen to push the ballpoint back in, gently shutting your journal and putting it back in one of your luggages. Staring at the sunset through the glass walls of the airport as you let your gaze be dragged back and forth by planes that were both departing and landing, you couldn’t help but let a wistful smile appear on your face. Even long ago, you already got aboard on a ship of longing for a change, a major event that will change the trajectory of your life for all the years that are yet to come. But you’ve never really been brave enough to keep your word back then, thus, the idea eventually rotted until it turned into a thought buried in the very back of your mind.

What you weren’t expecting at all was that very thought to come crawling back to bite you years later, but it’s been a long while since you neglected the idea, and now, you were no longer the same scaredy cat who had a knack for stressing herself out over the potential consequences of her actions instead of choosing to live in the moment—well, you were still a bit of a coward on specific circumstances, but no longer as much now. It wasn’t really charged by a highly traumatic moment or anything—you just came to realization that longing for a change without actually taking an action upon it won’t do anything on a random Sunday while moping over your laundry pile that refuses to decrease when you’ve literally been neglecting your house chores for an entire week straight.

The different jobs you’d take up almost every 3 business weeks due to always being fired over the most mediocre of reasons didn’t help with getting your life together either, especially since all of them had a low pay rate. Well, it only makes sense for things to be that way, considering your town was small and wasn’t really that fortunate in terms of financial matters, but that doesn’t mean you’re supposed to just suck it up and endure it. After all, why would you expect yourself to feel pity for the reason behind why you’re still unsure of what path you’re supposed to tread in life?

This was also one of the many reasons you decided to move to another country—you weren’t just hoping to experience a life-changing switch up, you were hoping to be able to find yourself throughout your journey in a foreign setting. You’ve never really been sure of what you wanted to be, always too busy with thinking of ways to survive rather than ways to live.

The speakers scattered around the walls of the airport then began to ring, signaling the departure of a flight. “Attention, passengers: Flight 276 to Paris is now boarding at Gate 12.”

You felt your heart skip a beat as the announcement rang through the terminal. With a deep breath, you stood up, gathering your belongings with a mix of excitement and nerves. This was it—the moment you’d been waiting for. The walk to Gate 12 felt surreal. People occupied themselves in their personal activities around you, dragging suitcases and chatting in various languages, but it all seemed to blur together as your focus remained on the boarding gate ahead. Handing your boarding pass to the attendant, you couldn't help but smile as they welcome you aboard.

Stepping onto the plane, the cool air and the quiet hum of the engines greeted you. Finding your seat, you settled in, glancing out the window at the fading light of the evening. This was the beginning of your new chapter, and as the plane began to taxi down the runway, you felt a sense of determination wash over you. Paris was waiting.

The flight was short, but for you, who had already been brimming with anticipation for what felt like an eternity, each passing second seemed to stretch into hours. Every tiny movement of the plane, every faint hum of the engines, felt amplified by the adrenaline spreading through your veins. You had spent weeks imagining this moment, and now that it was finally here, the reality felt almost too surreal to grasp.

As the plane soared above the clouds, the world below seemed to shrink, becoming a patchwork quilt of landscapes, cities, and oceans. The setting sun painted the horizon in brilliant hues of gold and orange, casting a warm, ethereal glow over everything. You pressed your face to the window, your breath fogging the glass as you gazed out at the breathtaking view. The sprawling scenery beneath you brought a sense of comfort, a reminder of the vastness of the world and the endless possibilities that awaited you.

Your thoughts drifted to the life you were leaving behind. Memories of your hometown, with its familiar streets and faces, flashed through your mind. There was a pang of nostalgia, but it was quickly overshadowed by the excitement of the new chapter you were about to begin. You closed your eyes, intending to rest them for just a moment. The gentle hum of the plane and the slight turbulence lulled you into a light nap, the anticipation and exhaustion of the journey catching up with you.

You were awoken by the voice of the pilot crackling through the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you look out of your windows to the left, you will see the Eiffel Tower in the distance as we begin our descent into Paris.”

Your eyes fluttered open, the grogginess of sleep quickly replaced by a rush of excitement. You pressed your face to the window once more, your heart skipping a beat at the sight that greeted you. There, standing tall against the backdrop of the glowing sky, was the Eiffel Tower. Its iron lattice structure, illuminated by the last light of the day, seemed to beckon you, a symbol of the dreams and opportunities that lay ahead.

The plane began its descent, and the details of the city became clearer. The Seine River snaked its way through the heart of Paris, its waters reflecting the shimmering lights of the bridges and buildings that lined its banks. You could see people walking along the river, tiny figures in the distance, living their everyday lives in this magical city. The closer you got, the more real it all became.

As the wheels touched down on the runway, a wave of emotions washed over you. Relief, excitement, and a hint of nervousness mingled together, creating a heady cocktail of feelings that made your heart race. The plane taxied to the gate, and the passengers around you began to gather their belongings, ready to disembark. You joined them, your hands trembling slightly in excitement as you reached for your carry-on bag.

Stepping off the plane and into the terminal, you were immediately struck by the vibrant energy of the place. The air was filled with a symphony of languages, the chatter of travelers from all corners of the globe blending together in a harmonious cacophony. The terminal itself was a hive of activity, with people bustling about, some rushing to their next destination, others leisurely browsing the shops and cafes.

You followed the flow of people through the airport, the sights and sounds of Paris already beginning to enchant you. The aroma of freshly baked croissants and strong coffee wafted through the air, mingling with the subtle scent of perfume from the duty-free shops. The polished floors gleamed under the bright lights, reflecting the excitement in your eyes.

With your luggage in hand, you navigated through the crowd, your steps quickening as you neared the exit. The doors slid open, and you stepped out into the cool evening air. The city of Paris stretched out before you, alive with lights and sounds. The aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries wafted through the air, mingling with the distant hum of traffic and the occasional burst of laughter from a nearby café.

You took a deep breath, letting the reality of it all sink in. This was your new beginning, your fresh start—all chances to achieve every dream you had always wanted to turn into reality were eagerly waiting for you. As you hailed a taxi and gave the driver the address of your new apartment, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe and wonder. Paris was everything you had dreamed of and more, and you were ready to embrace every moment of it.

The taxi ride through the streets of Paris felt like a dream. The city was a blend of old-world charm and modern vibrancy, with historic buildings standing proudly alongside trendy boutiques and cafes. You watched as people went about their lives, completely unaware of the new arrival who was already falling in love with their city.

The taxi driver, an older gentleman with a kind smile, made pleasant conversation during the ride. “Is this your first time in Paris?” he asked in a thick French accent.

“Yes, it is, sir,” you replied, your voice tinged with excitement. “I’ve always dreamed of coming here.”

“Ah, Paris is a city of dreams,” he said, his eyes twinkling in the rearview mirror. “You will love it here, I’m sure.”

Finally, you arrived at your apartment, a quaint building nestled in a quiet street. The driver helped you with your luggage, and you thanked him, giving him a generous tip. As you approached the building, the landlord, a friendly-looking middle-aged woman, stepped out to greet you. “Bonsoir! You must be the new tenant,” she said warmly, extending her hand. “I am Madame Dupont."

“Bonsoir, Madame Dupont,” you replied, taking her hand in yours and gently shaking it. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Welcome to Paris,” she said, her smile broadening. “I hope your journey was pleasant. Now, let me show you to your apartment.”

You followed her inside, the cozy interior of the building immediately making you feel at home. She led you up a narrow staircase to the second floor, where she unlocked the door to your new apartment. “This is it,” she said, opening the door and stepping aside to let you enter first. “I hope you will find it comfortable.”

You stepped inside, your eyes widening as you took in the charming space. The apartment was small but cozy, with large windows that offered a stunning view of the Parisian streets below. The furnishings were simple yet elegant, and there was a welcoming warmth to the place that instantly put you at ease.

“It’s perfect,” you said, turning to Madame Dupont with a grateful smile. “Thank you so much.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she replied. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. The other tenants are very friendly, and there’s a lovely café just down the street. I’m sure you’ll settle in quickly.”

“Thank you, Madame Dupont.” You gave her a grin filled with gratitude. “I really appreciate it.”

She handed you the keys, her smile never wavering. “Enjoy your stay in Paris. I have a feeling you’ll have many wonderful adventures here.”

With that, she left you to settle in, closing the door behind her. You took a moment to soak it all in—the cozy apartment, the view of the streets below, the realization that you were finally here, in Paris. Unpacking your belongings, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of accomplishment. You have made it. You were here, ready to start this new chapter of your life. As you stood by the window, looking out at the city that would now be your home, you knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful adventure.

Once you finished unpacking your belongings, you were about to settle down and immediately continue your journal entry for the day, but then you remembered Madame Dupont mentioning a café nearby the apartment. You mused to yourself, why not start your very first step into your new life now? You went through the rack of clothes you had just finished hanging inside your closet. Since you’d read somewhere that the weather in Paris was very cold lately, you decided to go for a comfortable, chic outfit made with a fabric thick enough to help you withstand the climate, paired with a long beige coat.

Debating whether to wear a beret as a cherry on top, you figured that would be way too much of a giveaway to the city folks that you were new around here. Instead, you chose one of the small bags you brought with you that wasn’t too big but big enough to fit your journal and essentials. Taking one last look at yourself in the mirror, you smiled to yourself in approval before heading out.

As you made your way outside the apartment, you passed by Madame Dupont, who sent a wide grin your way. “Already going out for an adventure, huh? I see you’ve got a strong sense of spirit in you, young lady. Take care.”

You lightly laughed and returned her smile. “Thank you, Madame Dupont. I’ll make sure to be back soon before it’s too late,” you promised, bidding her farewell before heading out and not looking back.

You felt a little foolish for forgetting to ask Madame Dupont where exactly the café was located before leaving, as now you were on your third circle around the apartment wondering where on earth the café was. Determined not to give up, you tried once more, scanning the streets with renewed focus. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a café came into your line of sight, and you let out a relieved sigh. The place was filled with activity, its warm lights and inviting atmosphere drawing you in. You decided to head for the vacant tables outside, appreciating the opportunity to soak in the vibrant Parisian street life.

Settling into a seat, you placed your bag on the table and took out your journal. The evening air was crisp, but your thick outfit kept you warm. As you opened your journal, you glanced around, taking in the sights and sounds of your new city. The café’s ambiance was filled with the soft murmur of conversations, the clinking of cups and plates, and the occasional laughter from nearby tables. You took a deep breath, savoring the moment. This was your new beginning, your first step into the life you had dreamed of. With a smile on your face, you began to continue your entry for October 24th.

I made it! I’m finally here in Paris, and let me tell you, the way it is described by media articles and people in social media spaces definitely does not entirely sum up just how beautiful it actually is in real life. I know it hasn’t even been half a day since I got here, but I can already feel myself falling in love with this city. Well, I guess they call it the city of love for a reason, right? I mean, in a literal context, how I feel is not why Paris is called such, but I’d like to think falling in love with the endless opportunities a certain place offers to you gives a more heartwarming feeling than falling in love with those who live in it.

Anyway, the journey felt like an eternity, but the sight of the Eiffel Tower from the plane made every second worth it. Stepping off the plane and into the terminal was like stepping into a dream, one you’d never catch yourself wanting to get out of. The energy, the diversity, the sheer magic of it all—it’s everything I imagined and more.

Madame Dupont, my landlord, is incredibly kind. She welcomed me warmly and showed me to my cozy apartment. It’s small, but it’s all I can afford for now, so it’ll do. It provides me with a spectacular view of the streets below, too, so I guess it’s not really that bad. After unpacking, I decided to explore the neighborhood, and now, I’m currently sitting at a charming café just around the corner from my apartment as I’m writing this.

The atmosphere here is enchanting. The air is filled with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the chatter of people enjoying their evening. I feel alive, inspired, and ready to embrace whatever comes my way. This is the start of my new life, and I couldn’t be more excited. I’m sure it’ll take me a while before I get used to the new environment, but everyone starts somewhere, right?

Just as you finished your entry, a waiter approached your table with a friendly smile. “Bonsoir, mademoiselle. What can I get for you this evening?”

You looked up, momentarily taken aback by the realization that you were truly in Paris. “Bonsoir,” you replied, returning his smile. “Could I please have a café au lait?”

“Of course,” he said with a nod. “I’ll bring it right out.”

As the waiter walked off, you looked around, taking in the sights and sounds of the café and the street beyond. Even though it had barely been 24 hours since you arrived, you could already feel the major changes in your life beginning to take place. Listening to your gut and deciding to move to Paris was definitely the best decision you’d made so far. Your hometown was nice, but it had finished serving its purpose. From now on, it was nothing but a distant memory that could only be fondly looked back at and not returned to.

Minutes later, the waiter came back with your order and placed it down on your table with a kind smile. You return it back with an even wider grin, thanking him with utmost gratitude as he went off to serve other customers and left you with your internal musings.

Paris felt like a breath of fresh air, a place where you could truly spread your wings and explore your potential. The city’s energy was infectious, filling you with a sense of possibility and excitement for the future. The people, the culture, the very air you breathed—it all felt like an invitation to start anew, to discover parts of yourself you never knew existed. As the sky darkened and the street lights flickered on, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets, you felt a sense of contentment wrap you in an embrace.

Noticing that it was getting quite late, you hurriedly began to pack your items. The last thing you wanted was to stay in the streets for too long and risk getting into trouble before you could even start your new life. Plus, you didn’t want to leave a bad impression on Madame Dupont by breaking your promise to return before it got too late. And you certainly didn’t want to stay up too long and miss the opportunity to wake up early tomorrow to start searching for a job to settle yourself in.

In your haste, you quickly gathered your things, placing them back in your bag. However, in your rush, you forgot to place your journal back inside. You slung your bag over your shoulder, the adrenaline of the day still lingering in your veins as you made your way back to your apartment.

As you neared your apartment, a sudden realization hit you—you had left your journal at the café. Panic surged through you as you turned on your heel and rushed back, your heart pounding with urgency.

The café was still open, and you hurried inside, scanning the tables where you had been sitting. Your journal was nowhere to be seen. Swallowing your anxiety, you approached the counter where a waiter was wiping down some glasses.

“Excuse me,” you said, your voice tinged with worry. “I left a black journal here earlier. Do you have a lost and found section?”

The waiter looked up and smiled kindly. “Yes, we do. Follow me.” He led you to a small office in the back and began rifling through a box of forgotten items. “Apologies, what did you lose again?”

“A black journal,” you repeated, your stomach in knots.

The waiter nodded and pulled out a plain black notebook. “Is this it?”

You sighed in relief. “Yes, that’s the one. Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” he said with a smile. “Glad we could help.” You thanked him again and hurried out of the café, eager to get back to your apartment. You clutched the journal tightly in your hands, not bothering to check it until you were safely back in your room.

Once you were home, you finally took a moment to catch your breath. You sat on your bed and opened the journal, flipping past the first page. But something was off. The pages weren’t filled with your handwriting; instead, they were covered in otherworldly sketches of fashion designs, complete with detailed notes.

Confused, you flipped back to the front cover and saw a name scrawled there in neat handwriting: Kim Hongjoong.

Not being able to keep your curiosity in check, you decided to take a look at the sketches in the journal. Opening the first few pages, you find yourself to be immediately in awe with the sight that greets you.

The first page featured an elegant evening gown, the kind that would turn heads at any high-class event. The dress was sleek and form-fitting, with a high neckline and elegantly patterned lace detailing that cascaded down the back. The fabric seemed to shimmer even on the page, giving it a sense of movement and grace. There was a small note attached to the side:

“Inspired by the twilight sky. Use silk chiffon for the outer layer, color: midnight blue.”

You flipped to the next page and found a chic, modern pantsuit. The jacket was tailored to perfection, with sharp lines and a slightly oversized fit, giving it a contemporary edge. The trousers were high-waisted and wide-legged, creating a powerful and stylish silhouette. Another note accompanied this design:

“Power and elegance combined. Fabric: wool blend, color: charcoal gray. Consider adding a silk blouse in white.”

The next sketch was a whimsical cocktail dress. It had a flared skirt that ended just above the knees and a fitted bodice adorned with floral embroidery. The dress seemed playful yet sophisticated, perfect for a summer party, a fancy brunch, or maybe even a date by a park. The note read:

“Spring collection. Use organza for the skirt and satin for the bodice. Embroidery: floral motifs in pastel shades.”

Turning the page, you found a casual yet stylish ensemble. This one consisted of a cropped leather jacket, a simple white tee, and high-waisted skinny jeans. The look was completed with ankle boots and a statement necklace. The note next to it said:

“Urban chic. Jacket: genuine leather, color: black. Jeans: denim, dark wash. Accessorize with bold jewelry.”

You continued to flip through the pages, marveling at the diversity and creativity of the designs. Each sketch seemed to tell a story, and it was clear that Kim Hongjoong had a keen eye for fashion and an impressive ability to translate his vision onto paper. Another design caught your eye—a stunning bridal gown. The dress was timeless and romantic, with a sweetheart neckline, a fitted bodice, and a flowing tulle skirt. Delicate lace covered the bodice and trailed down into the skirt, giving the dress a dreamy, ethereal quality. The note attached was longer:

“Bridal collection. Bodice: lace overlay on satin, color: ivory. Skirt: multiple layers of tulle for volume, same color. Add pearl embellishments to the bodice for an extra touch of elegance.”

You found yourself getting lost in the artistry of the sketches. Whoever Kim Hongjoong was, he definitely knew what he was doing. His designs were not only beautiful but also meticulously planned, with each detail carefully thought out and noted.

You couldn’t help but let your thoughts wander freely. Was he a fashion student? But his designs seemed too advanced for that level. An aspiring designer, perhaps? You had no idea. You hoped Kim Hongjoong hadn’t mixed his notebook with yours as well—but then again, why would there only be one black journal there if yours hadn’t already been taken?

What if Kim Hongjoong had been in the café hours before you came by and went back only to end up retrieving your personal journal instead of his sketchbook? One thing was for sure, you had a desperate sense of hope that he wasn’t snooping through it right now as you lay down and let yourself be drowned in your thoughts.

Well... you did snoop through his sketchbook, but journal entries are way more personal than that, aren’t they? You imagined him reading through your thoughts and musings, learning about your insecurities and dreams, unsure of how to feel about the scenario. It was one thing to admire someone’s creative work, but entirely another to delve into someone’s private reflections.

As you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, your mind whirled with questions and possibilities. Who was Kim Hongjoong, and how could you find him to return his sketchbook and retrieve your journal, in case it was in his possession as well? The idea of someone else reading your innermost thoughts made you uneasy, but at the same time, the mystery of this encounter intrigued you.

Not even a day had passed, and yet Paris was already proving itself to be filled with extraordinary happenings.

—

“So… you’re telling me that not only did you forget the sketchbook you’ve been using since you started fashion school back in college—which you, by the way, claim to be your most prized possession, but when you went back to the café to retrieve it, you ended up taking a stranger’s notebook with you?”

Hongjoong sighed, rubbing his temples as he lightly banged the back of his head against his headboard. “Prized possession or not, you know I tend to be forgetful about my belongings, Seonghwa. So whatever you’re trying to imply, drop it. Plus, how was I supposed to know? The notebook they gave me was a hundred percent identical with what my sketchbook looks like.”

“And you didn’t bother checking the pages first before heading back here last night?” Seonghwa raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “You seriously waited until now to tell me about this?”

“First of all, I didn’t wait. You woke me up by telling me you’ll be coming over to check my latest designs for our autumn collection,” Hongjoong countered, crossing his arms in defense.

Seonghwa raised an eyebrow. “So, what, had I not called you, you would’ve waited until later in the afternoon to tell me?”

“That’s not the point!” Hongjoong buried his face deep in his palms, the skintone of his fingers mixing with the dark hues of his hair. “I’m stressed out and I already have a lot on my plate, so please, Seonghwa, if you’re not going to help me out with this, just leave.”

Seonghwa let out a soft sigh before throwing his arms up in defeat. Taking a couple steps to draw closer to Hongjoong’s bed, he took a seat on the edge of it, the cushion underneath shrinking. “I literally help you with everything for a living. I definitely don’t want to validate your stupidity, but if that’s what’ll bring money to the table, then fine, I’m all ears.”

“Will you stop acting like we’re just co-workers and I only hired you as a personal assistant to treat you like a slave? Mind you, you’re the one who came up with the idea of taking this responsibility to begin with.” Hongjoong groaned.

“Yeah, when I was a dumb man back in college,” Seonghwa retorted, though playfully, as he never really took the endless banter between him and Hongjoong seriously. It does get a little serious about twice a year, though, but doesn’t that happen to every friendship in this world?

“What changed now? You’re a dumb man in the fashion industry?” Hongjoong challenged, drawing the blankets closer to his torso.

Seonghwa gave him a disapproving look. “You better quit giving me attitude. It’s 7 in the morning, and I’m not having any of that today.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m your child!”

“Then stop acting like one!”

Hongjoong roughly dragged his palms across his face. “Yeah, fine, whatever.”

“Good. Now that we’ve got that sorted out, have you done anything with the notebook, like, at all?” Seonghwa turned his body slightly to the left so he could face Hongjoong.

“I have. I checked the notebook a minute after you called me to ask about our autumn collection, and flipping through its first page was enough to tell me everything I needed to know. Although I do agree it would’ve been wiser to have done that the night before…” Hongjoong admitted, avoiding Seonghwa’s gaze as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, staring out the window of his penthouse.

“Everything you needed to know?” Seonghwa tilted his head.

“What was on the first page wasn’t a name—it was ‘Letters from the archive,’ and it was written in cursive. My sketchbook has my name on its first page,” Hongjoong explained, eliciting a sigh from Seonghwa.

“Letters from the archive, huh? The owner must be into literature,” Seonghwa mused. “Are you sure it really looks that identical to your sketchbook, though?”

“I am. I swear, there isn’t even a single difference. Here, I’ll show you.” Hongjoong stretched his arms, finally taking the blankets off of him and leaning closer towards his bedside table to pull the top drawer open. Once he had taken out the notebook, he pushed the drawer shut, moving to occupy the empty space beside Seonghwa on his bed. “Look at that and tell me it doesn’t look exactly like my sketchbook.”

“Oh,” was all Seonghwa could say as he examined the journal’s cover. “Well, I guess you’re not that stupid after all. I mean, you’re still stupid for forgetting your prized possession, but not as much anymore. I definitely wouldn’t have suspected a thing if I were you, either.”

“...”

“But I definitely would have decided to check the contents first—”

Hongjoong snatched the journal away from Seonghwa. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, whatever. So… what do I do now?”

“Maybe try flipping a page further? Just to see if you could find any information that could take you a step closer to figuring out what the notebook is for.” Seonghwa shrugged his shoulders.

Hongjoong hesitated. “What if it’s some sort of a personal journal? The eccentric cursive lettering kind of gives it away. Are you sure about that?”

“Positive. And if you’re immediately met with a journal entry, close it shut as soon as you can and we’ll try to find another way to see who the owner is. We’re not invading people’s privacy in the 21st century,” Seonghwa suggested, leaning back and placing his hands down on either side for support as he waited for Hongjoong to do as he said. “So?”

“It’s blank.”

“Huh?” Seonghwa straightened up, looking at the open journal laying down on Hongjoong’s lap. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. What now?” Hongjoong asked, staring blankly at the empty page. “I’m pretty sure the only way we can find out this person’s name or anything remotely hinting at their identity is if we go deeper and read at least one entry. Just one.”

“I don’t think that’s…” Seonghwa trailed off, considering Hongjoong’s words. Even if he hated to admit it, the man had a fair point. He was against his idea, but right now, it’s not exactly like they have any other choice. Sighing in defeat, he slumps his shoulders. “Fine. One entry, but that’s it. That’s as far as we should go.”

Hongjoong nodded in satisfaction, ecstatic that for once, Seonghwa actually views his perspective as something valuable. “Alright, one entry it is,” he mused, almost to himself, before flipping through the pages and stopping at a random entry.

July 10, 2018

Is it unacceptable to long for a major shift in your life? To desperately hope for a miracle to happen almost every night, just a couple seconds before your body entirely falls into the pit of unconsciousness? To be frankly honest, these are questions I have no answers to. Not because I’m empty-handed, rather, I’ve always been too afraid to step out of my tiny little bubble to find out the answers myself. How am I supposed to know if yearning for a change despite already being in an environment considered comfortable is unjustifiable if I’m not making any move to feel at least a fleeting touch of that “change” to begin with?

I know my parents think keeping me alone here in my hometown while they continued their lives in a different country was the best decision they’ve made for my entire lifespan because in their eyes, they view this as a way to teach me the art of independence or whatever my father called it, and don’t get me wrong, I love them dearly and I know they’re only doing all these things because they care for me, but if it’s a good decision in their eyes, why can’t it be in mine?

Yes, Arcadia Bay is the place where I grew up, the only place I feel enough connection with to call my home, but I have to be honest and admit that this place doesn’t exactly feel like something I could call a sanctuary anymore. I love it here, but I feel like this town was supposed to be nothing but a guiding light that has already served its purpose back in my childhood days. I feel like I’m not supposed to be here anymore—who knows, maybe that’s why I’ve been feeling so out of place ever since I started growing up.

I’m still unsure of whether I should initiate a change in my life as of now, but if I were to do so anytime soon, I think following my parents’ footsteps and moving to a new country as well would be the right decision for me. That’s a huge change, right? Maybe once I’m brave enough to stand firm on that decision, I can finally prove to them that I’ve grown to be the independent figure they’ve always wanted me to be. That would make them proud, right? Guess I’ll start browsing the internet for recommendations on one of these following days.

“Arcadia Bay?” Hongjoong’s eyebrows furrowed. “Hey, Seonghwa, could you look up where Arcadia Bay is?”

The aforementioned man didn’t need to be told twice, already pulling his phone out from the pocket of his tailored pants. “On it,” he replied before typing the words ‘Arcadia Bay’ in the browser’s search bar. Once the results appeared on his screen, he couldn’t resist but let out a hum of surprise. “Oh?”

“Why?” Hongjoong gently closed the journal, placing it on the empty spot to his left as he leaned closer towards Seonghwa, who gave him a clear view of the browser’s search results. “A secluded town located in…”

“So the owner isn’t from here, then?” Hongjoong whispered to himself, yet it was audible enough to make Seonghwa give a curt nod.

“The entry I chose to read was written on July 10, and they said something about wanting to move to a new country. I wonder if they’ve been here for a while or have just settled in…” Hongjoong trailed off. “Should I read the most recent entry?”

“Hongjoong, are you out of your mind? One entry is enough,” Seonghwa countered, but Hongjoong insisted. “I know, but how am I supposed to figure out if they’re new here or not?”

Seonghwa groaned. “You don’t need to know that to begin with. Reading one entry is invasive enough. Just leave the rest to me. I’ll figure out a way to track the owner down and see if your sketchbook is in their possession as well.”

Seeing that Hongjoong wasn’t convinced enough, Seonghwa softened, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Look, I know you’re worried, but we’ll figure this out, alright? I’ll do everything I can.”

“We can wait for autumn all we want, but autumn won’t wait for us, Seonghwa. What if the months pass by faster than we’re currently anticipating, and my sketchbook is still not in our hands? What will I do, then? You know I can’t mess this up.” Hongjoong’s figure slumped, a symbol of hopelessness.

A flash of empathy spread across Seonghwa’s gaze. “I know that more than you think I do, Hongjoong. And that’s exactly what I’m here for. I volunteered to be your personal assistant for a reason. Now, quit moping around, or else I’ll tell Wooyoung about this.”

“Oh, God, no—anything but that. You know he always does everything in his power to make me feel even worse when I’m having a horrible day,” Hongjoong said, groaning at the thought of his fashion brand’s photographer.

“I beg to differ. I think it’s just his own special way of cheering you up.” Seonghwa nudged him, a smile on his face. “Anyway, you don’t have to worry about me snitching on you to Wooyoung, since he’s most likely busy with his photography gigs outside of taking pictures of models.”

At the mention of the word ‘model,’ Hongjoong’s ears perked up. “Speaking of models, you mentioned the other week you’re looking for a specific set of features that’ll match the vibe our upcoming collection is opting for, right?”

“Yeah. I’ve been working my soul off to try and search everywhere for a suitable muse, but luck hasn’t been on my side lately. My schedule today isn’t packed since yours isn’t, so I’ll make use of my free time later in the afternoon to conduct another search.” Seonghwa turned to Hongjoong, a grin of determination spread across his face.

“If it weren’t for you, I’d probably be in the trenches and not a penthouse right now.”

“Wish that was the case.”

“This is the only time I’m allowing myself to express my gratitude verbally, and that’s the response you chose to give me?”

You wandered through the streets of Paris, eyes scanning every shop window and café for signs advertising job vacancies. The bustling city, with its charming cobblestone streets and historic architecture, felt both enchanting and overwhelming. Every corner held a new promise, a new opportunity—or so you hoped.

Your first stop was a quaint little bakery that looked like it had been plucked straight out of a storybook. The sweet aroma of freshly baked bread wafted out as you pushed the door open, the bell above jingling to announce your arrival. A middle-aged woman with kind eyes greeted you from behind the counter. “Bonjour! How can I help you?”

You smiled, trying to mask your nervousness. “Bonjour. I was wondering if you might be hiring?”

Her smile faltered slightly, and she shook her head. “I’m sorry, but we’re fully staffed at the moment. But I do wish you the best of luck in your search!”

“That’s alright. Thank you,” you replied, forcing a smile. “Have a good day.”

The doorbell jingled again as you left, and you sighed, making a note to check back in a few weeks before continuing your job hunt. Next, you approached a charming bookstore nestled between a café and a flower shop. The smell of old books greeted you as you stepped inside, and the owner, an elderly man with glasses perched on the edge of his nose, looked up from his newspaper.

“Excuse me,” you began, your voice wavering slightly. “Are you looking for any help?”

He gave you a kind but weary smile. “I’m afraid not, dear. It’s just me here, and I can manage well enough. But thank you for asking.”

“Of course. Have a good day,” you said, nodding politely before exiting the store.

Feeling a bit discouraged, you decided to try your luck at a nearby café. The place was bustling with customers, and you hoped that meant they might need an extra pair of hands. You approached the counter where a barista was busy making coffee.

“Hi there, I was wondering if you’re hiring,” you asked when the barista had a moment to spare.

She glanced at you, her expression apologetic. “Oh, sorry, but we’re fully staffed right now. Maybe try back in a month or so?”

“A month… Okay, thanks anyway,” you replied, feeling your spirits dip further.

As the morning turned into afternoon, you found yourself in a part of the city you didn’t recognize. The streets here were pristine, lined with designer boutiques and luxury cars. The buildings were grand and elegant, their facades adorned with intricate details that spoke of old money and high status. It was clear that the people who lived here were exceptionally wealthy.

You spotted a small convenience store and decided to take a break, purchasing a bottle of water before finding a bench to sit on. You took a long sip of water, feeling the cool liquid soothe your parched throat. The hustle and bustle of the morning had worn you out, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of regret. Maybe you had underestimated just how difficult it would be to find a job in a new city, let alone in a foreign country where you barely knew anyone.

You glanced around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. The buildings here were charming in their own way, but they didn’t have the same vibrant energy as the heart of Paris. You wondered how far you had walked, how many miles you had covered without even realizing it. The city seemed to stretch on endlessly, each new street a labyrinth of possibilities and dead ends.

As you sat there, you couldn’t help but think about how much you missed the familiarity of your hometown, despite its suffocating nature. Back there, you knew the ins and outs, the shortcuts and hidden gems. Here, everything was a mystery waiting to be unraveled—a mystery that, right now, felt overwhelming.

But you couldn’t afford to wallow in self-pity. You had made the choice to move here, to start anew, and you were determined to make it work. After all, wasn’t this what you had dreamed of? A fresh start, a chance to reinvent yourself in one of the most beautiful cities in the world?

You stood up, drinking the last drip of your water before tossing the bottle into a nearby recycling bin. You decided to continue your job search, reasoning that you might as well make the most of being in an unfamiliar part of the city, yet the next few hours passed in a blur of polite conversations and disappointing rejections. You visited a cozy bookstore, a flower shop, and even a small art gallery, but each time the answer was the same: no openings.

At a chic boutique, you approached a stylish woman arranging clothes on a rack. “Excuse me, are you hiring by any chance?”

She looked you up and down, her expression neutral. “Not at the moment. Try again in a few weeks.”

“Oh, um, alright. Thanks,” you said, trying to keep your tone upbeat.

A small restaurant was your next stop. The manager, a burly man with a thick mustache, listened as you asked about job openings. He shook his head. “Sorry, we’re not hiring right now. But I’ll keep your name in mind if something opens up.”

“I would appreciate that very much,” you said, handing him a slip of paper with your contact information.

You continued to push forward, determined not to let the string of rejections defeat you. At a florist’s shop, the owner, a woman in her forties with a friendly smile, seemed sympathetic. “I wish I could help, but we’re fully staffed for the season. Try the market down the street, though—they’re always busy.”

You thanked her and headed to the market, only to find the same disheartening response. The vendors were polite but firm: no openings.

By the time the sun began to set, casting a warm golden glow over the city, you were exhausted. Your feet ached, and your spirits were low. You had covered a lot of ground, but you were no closer to finding a job than you had been that morning.

You made your way to a nearby bus stop, hoping to catch a bus back to your apartment. As you waited, you couldn’t help but reflect on the day’s events. It was disheartening to face so many rejections, but you tried to remind yourself that it was only the first day. Things would get better—they had to.

Just as a bus pulled up and you prepared to board, you noticed a man standing across the street, staring at you. He was well-dressed, his long, dark hair neatly styled, and there was something about his gaze that made you pause. But you didn’t have the energy to think much of it. You dismissed it as a coincidence, stepping onto the bus and finding a seat by the window.

As the bus pulled away, you watched the city pass by, the streets slowly transforming from the unfamiliar to the familiar. You leaned your head against the window, closing your eyes for a moment. Tomorrow is a new day, and you should continue your search. For now, you allowed yourself a moment of rest, letting the rhythmic motion of the bus lull you into a state of quiet reflection.

If only you had your journal with you.

Seonghwa strolled through the opulent streets, his mind still buzzing with the image of the woman he had seen at the bus stop. There was something undeniably captivating about you—your presence was like a breath of fresh air in the midst of the city’s chaos. Your aura practically reeked of autumn, a season that brought a sense of warmth and nostalgia, and your features harmonized perfectly with the vibe you carried. There was a certain grace you held, a blend of determination and gentleness that made you stand out.

Seonghwa had a unique talent, a third eye for spotting individuals who deserved to be showcased in the fashion industry. Today, it was as if a laser had hit him right in the eye when he saw you. He couldn’t shake the feeling that you were the perfect muse Hongjoong had been searching for.

As he approached Hongjoong’s penthouse, Seonghwa’s mind was racing. He had to tell Hongjoong about you, even if he didn’t know your name or where you were headed. He pushed open the door to the penthouse, finding Hongjoong hunched over his desk, engrossed in his work.

Hongjoong looked up, surprise evident on his face. “Seonghwa? You’re back already? And… wow. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Seonghwa shook his head, still trying to process what he had seen. “No, not a ghost. I saw the perfect muse for your works.”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened, immediately intrigued. He leaned back in his chair, motioning for Seonghwa to sit down. “Settle down and tell me everything. Did you get her name?”

Seonghwa sighed, frustration creeping into his voice. “No, I didn’t. I only saw her just as she was getting on a bus across the street. But Hongjoong, you have to believe me. This woman—she’s exactly what you’ve been looking for. Her entire aura screamed autumn. It was like she was made to be your muse.”

Hongjoong frowned, disappointed but still intrigued. “You know how rarely you say something like that. In fact, I don’t think you’ve ever used the word ‘perfect’ to describe any of the models you’ve scouted.”

Seonghwa nodded sarcastically. “Thanks for the info, Sherlock. I know that very well. That’s why I’m so certain. She was different, like she wasn’t from here at all.”

Hongjoong leaned forward, his curiosity piqued. “Tell me more. What exactly did you see that made you so sure?”

Seonghwa took a deep breath, trying to put the ineffable into words. “It was the way she carried herself. There was a certain grace, a natural elegance that you don’t see every day. She had a strong, remarkable energy, yet there was also a touch of softness to it. Her presence was calming, almost like the gentle fall of autumn leaves. Her features were perfectly combined in a way that was so unique as if she’s the only one who could pull off such an appearance. It was her overall vibe—the warmth, the subtle strength, the sense of being grounded yet free.”

Hongjoong listened intently, absorbing every detail. “And you’re sure she’s not a local?”

“I don’t think so. There was something in her demeanor, a curiosity about her surroundings, that made me think she’s new here. She seemed to be exploring, taking in everything around her.”

Hongjoong’s disappointment deepened. “It’s a shame you didn’t get to speak to her. But if she’s new here, she might not have settled down yet. We could still find her.”

Seonghwa nodded. “That’s what I’m hoping for. We’ll need to keep our eyes open, maybe put out some feelers. Someone must have seen her.”

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, considering the possibilities. “Can you draw? Even just a little?”

Seonghwa blinked, caught off guard by the question. “A little, yeah. Why?”

Without another word, Hongjoong handed Seonghwa a pen and a piece of paper. “Draw what she looked like.”

Seonghwa hesitated for a moment before taking the pen. His eyebrows lightly furrowed as he began recalling the details as best as he could—the way you carried yourself, the way your presence seemed to radiate warmth. He began to sketch, his hand moving swiftly across the paper.

As he worked, Hongjoong watched intently, his anticipation growing with each stroke of the pen. Seonghwa’s drawing wasn’t perfect, but it captured the essence of what he had seen. The lines conveyed a sense of movement, a grace that was unmistakable. When he finished, he handed the drawing to Hongjoong.

Hongjoong couldn't take his eyes off the sketch. The lines were simple yet evocative, capturing an essence that stirred something deep within him. “She’s... ethereal,” he murmured, almost to himself. “It’s like even through this sketch, I can feel what you were talking about.”

Seonghwa leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “See? It was as if she had her own gravitational pull. Among all the people, she stood out. Not because of any single feature, but because of the way she seemed to belong and yet not belong at the same time. Like she was part of this world but also a visitor.”

Hongjoong nodded slowly, still entranced by the sketch. “You really do have a knack for psychoanalyzing people at first glance, don’t you?”

Seonghwa chuckled, nudging Hongjoong playfully. “It’s a gift, what can I say? I see beyond the surface. It’s what makes me such an asset to you.”

Hongjoong smirked, shaking his head. “An asset, huh? More like a pain sometimes.”

Seonghwa grinned. “Only sometimes? I must be losing my touch.”

Hongjoong laughed, the tension easing between them. “Well, you definitely haven’t lost your touch with this one. Seriously though, are you sure you weren’t hallucinating? She looks too good to be true.”

Seonghwa’s expression turned serious. “I’m as sure as I can be. She’s real, and she’s out there. I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes you just know when something is right.”

Hongjoong’s mind raced, the image of you taking root in his imagination. “I need that kind of authenticity, that depth that she seems to hold just from this sketch alone. Someone who embodies change, transition, like the seasons shifting.”

Seonghwa’s eyes lit up. “Exactly. That’s why I couldn’t just let it go. There was a sense of autumn around her—warmth mixed with a touch of melancholy, like she’s seen the world and carries its stories within her.”

Hongjoong’s thoughts were a whirlwind of possibilities. He could already see the designs taking shape, inspired by the image Seonghwa had drawn and the feelings it evoked. “You know, this could be the breakthrough we’ve been searching for. A muse like her could elevate the entire collection.”

Seonghwa smiled, feeling a surge of excitement. “I knew you’d understand. We just have to find her now. Maybe we can start by visiting the area where I saw her. There might be clues, or someone who knows her.”

Hongjoong agreed, his determination solidifying. “Yeah, we’ll start there and leave no stone unturned. I want to know everything about her—where she’s from, what brought her here, and what her dreams are. She’s the missing piece.”

Seonghwa chuckled softly. “You’re already captivated, and we haven’t even met her yet.”

Hongjoong smiled, a mixture of excitement and anxiety in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say that. It’s my passion for what I do speaking for me. No personal feelings involved. Sometimes, you just immediately know when something—or someone—is going to change everything.”

“So, what do you think, Hongjoong?”

“I think she’s that someone.”

🪞 — lividstar.

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Nine: May I Have This Dance?

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 10.3k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ The initial plan was to stay the night in Hongjoong’s art studio to finish one of his designs, but as one thread tangled itself into another and kept the chain going, a series of unexpectedly charming experiences began to unfold, one of which contains running an errand to buy flowers for Madame Dupont’s vases—the very event that led to you and Hongjoong enjoying a little sophisticated dancing session while moving to the soft melody of La Vie En Rose.

a/n: this took so long i’m so sorry 😭 these past few weeks have been so hectic and i had little time to write but i finally pulled through! lmk what you guys think about this one hehe

tags: @beabatiny @babymbbatinygirl

The room was filled with the warm, ambient light of late-night lamps, casting soft shadows on the walls. The hum of the city outside was faint, muffled by the closed windows of Hongjoong’s studio. You both had decided to work late, wanting to finish the third design for his autumn collection before dawn. The atmosphere was relaxed as the hours passed.

“And then, when he pulled the green ribbon off her neck... her head fell to the ground!” you concluded the tale with a dramatic flair.

Hongjoong let out a startled gasp, his eyes wide with shock. “No way!” he exclaimed, causing you to burst into a fit of laughter. The sight of his genuine reaction, so vulnerable and out of character, had you clutching your stomach, tears forming in your eyes.

“Don’t laugh at me like that!” Hongjoong protested, his cheeks flushing slightly. “I’m sure you reacted just the same when you first heard that story.”

Still giggling, you wiped away your tears. “Actually, I did not. And come on, how can I not laugh? Seeing you so scared is just, I don’t know, uncharacteristically priceless?”

Hongjoong crossed his arms, a mock pout on his lips. “I don’t usually react like that, you know. It’s just that… that story... caught me off guard.”

You grinned, teasing him further. “Guess I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, then. So, are you always this easily frightened? Or was there a particular incident that made you this way?”

He hesitated, a shadow passing over his features. “Well, there was one major event,” he admitted, his tone softening.

Intrigued, you leaned forward, eager to hear more. “What happened?”

Hongjoong looked thoughtful, as if weighing his words carefully. “When I was younger, I had this experience... It was late at night, and I was at home alone. The power went out, and there was this eerie silence, you know? The kind that makes you hear things that aren’t really there. Suddenly, there was this loud crash from the kitchen. I thought someone had broken in. I grabbed the nearest thing I could find—a baseball bat—and slowly made my way there, heart pounding. But when I got to the kitchen, there was nothing. No sign of anyone. Just an open window that I knew I had closed earlier.”

He paused, taking a deep breath. “Ever since then, I’ve been quite jumpy, especially when I’m alone at night. It’s silly, really, but it left a mark on me.”

You listened intently, feeling a pang of sympathy. “That sounds terrifying. I can’t imagine going through something like that alone—at a young age, too.”

Hongjoong smiled sheepishly. “Yeah, it honestly still creeps me out a little when I remember it. But enough about me, what about you? Any fears?”

You hesitated, then sighed. “It’s not exactly spooky, but my biggest fear is being left alone. Not just physically alone, but emotionally. The idea of someone I care about just disappearing without a word... It terrifies me.”

Hongjoong’s expression softened, a hint of understanding in his eyes. “That’s understandable. It’s a fear many people have, I think. The fear of abandonment.”

You nodded, feeling a bit vulnerable yet also comforted by his empathetic response. So far, Hongjoong has proven himself to be very empathetic, and it’s a trait of his that you hold deep appreciation for. “Have you ever felt that way? Worried that someone might just leave without any explanation?”

A contemplative look crossed Hongjoong’s face, and he sighed softly. “It’s not exactly my biggest fear, but... yes, it’s happened to me before.”

Surprised, you looked at him, sensing there was more to the story. However, you also sensed his reluctance to delve deeper, so you decided to shift the topic. “Then... what is your biggest fear?”

Hongjoong glanced away, his gaze distant as he seemed to search for the right words. The studio fell silent, save for the ticking of a clock on the wall. Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “My biggest fear... is losing myself. Losing who I am, what I believe in, what I love. It’s easy to get lost in this industry, to become someone you’re not just to please others. Sometimes, I worry that in trying to be everything for everyone, I might end up being nothing at all.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of his confession. You felt a deep empathy for him, understanding the struggle of maintaining one’s identity in a world that often demands conformity. “That’s really deep,” you said softly. “But from what I’ve seen, you’ve always stayed true to yourself. That’s something to admire.”

Hongjoong gave you a small, grateful smile. “Thanks. It’s not always easy, but I try. And it helps having people around who remind me of who I am.”

The conversation left both of you in a pensive mood, the laughter from earlier replaced by a contemplative silence. “You’re one of those people, you know,” Hongjoong says after a few seconds, his voice soft and sincere, a hint of a smile showing up on his lips.

His words caught you off guard, a warm feeling spreading through your chest. You smiled back at him, a mixture of gratitude and affection in your eyes. “I’m glad I am.”

The quiet moment between you was filled with an unspoken understanding, a deeper connection that had blossomed unexpectedly. The soft hum of the city outside seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in this shared space. However, the peaceful silence was soon interrupted by a soft hiss from Hongjoong, followed by a muttered curse.

Concern immediately washed over you as you noticed him cradling his hand, a thin line of blood trickling down from his finger to the floor. “Are you alright? What happened?” you asked, quickly moving closer to him.

“It’s fine, just a small scratch,” he dismissed, waving his injured hand nonchalantly. “I’m used to it.”

You shook your head, not convinced. “Where do you keep your first aid supplies?”

He hesitated for a moment, then relented under your determined gaze. “Top drawer of my desk.”

“Stay put,” you instructed, getting up and heading to the desk. You rummaged through the drawer, pulling out a small first aid kit. Kneeling beside him, you opened the kit and carefully took out the necessary supplies. “Let’s get this cleaned up,” you said, your voice gentle but firm.

Hongjoong watched as you worked in silent awe. You cleaned the wound with a delicate touch, your brows furrowed in concentration. As all your attention was poured on his small wound, a stray strand of your hair fell into your line of sight. Before you could brush it away, Hongjoong reached out and gently tucked the hair behind your ear. The brief contact made your breath hitch, a small, almost imperceptible gasp escaping your lips. You felt a flutter in your chest, but you quickly pushed it aside, reminding yourself there was something you needed to get done.

Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on your face, taking in the soft curve of your features, the gentle way your lips pressed together as you concentrated. Up close, he noticed things he hadn’t before—the delicate lines around your eyes when you smiled, the way your lashes cast faint shadows on your cheeks. There was a quiet beauty to you, one that he found himself increasingly drawn to. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear his thoughts, but the feeling remained—a growing awareness of the attraction he felt toward you.

“There,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned back, inspecting your handiwork. The wound was now clean and bandaged, and you held his hand gently, your fingers still wrapped around his.

Hongjoong’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he looked down at your hands. “You know, you’re still holding my hand,” he teased, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Startled, you quickly released his hand, a flush creeping up your cheeks. “Oh, right. Sorry,” you mumbled, standing up and hastily putting the first aid supplies back in their place. You could hear Hongjoong’s soft laughter behind you, a sound that sent a pleasant warmth through you, despite your embarrassment.

As you turned back to face him, you found him still smiling, a look of fondness in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat. He seemed different tonight—more open, more... vulnerable? It was as if the late hour and the intimacy of the shared space had stripped away some of his usual guardedness, revealing a side of him you hadn’t seen before.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hide the smile in your own voice.

“Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head. “Just... I’m not used to being shown any concern. It felt nice having you clean my wound, since I usually do that myself.”

You felt a pang of sympathy for him, wondering what his life must be like, always busy, always under pressure—and on top of that, always being his own savior. “Well, someone’s got to look out for you,” you said lightly, trying to ease the sudden heaviness in the air.

He nodded, his expression turning more serious. “I suppose you’re right.”

For a moment, the two of you just looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between you. There was so much you wanted to say, so many questions you wanted to ask, but the words seemed to stick in your throat. Instead, you just smiled, hoping that your expression conveyed the warmth and support you felt for him.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, breaking the silence. “For everything.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice. The moment felt fragile, like a bubble that could burst at any second, and you were afraid that saying too much might shatter the delicate balance between you.

As the room settled into a comfortable silence, you both resumed your tasks. The design for the autumn collection was nearing completion, but there were still some intricate details that needed attention. Hongjoong broke the silence, his voice cutting through the quiet like a soft melody. “Hey, could you help me with something?” he asked, his tone gentle.

You looked up, meeting his gaze. “Of course,” you replied, setting aside the fabric you had been working on. “What do you need help with?”

He gestured towards the piece he was working on, a delicate embroidery that required precision. “I’m struggling with this part,” he admitted, a hint of frustration in his voice. “The stitches need to be tighter, but my hands aren’t steady enough right now.”

You nodded, understanding the predicament. “Let me see,” you said, scooting closer to him on the floor. As you took the fabric from him, your fingers brushed against his, sending a small jolt through you. You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest coming back as you focused on the task.

Hongjoong leaned in to guide you, his breath warm against your cheek. “Here, you need to pull the thread like this,” he instructed, his voice low and soft. His proximity made your heart race, and you could feel the heat of his body close to yours. The scent of his cologne, subtle and earthy, filled the air between you.

You nodded, trying to keep your focus. The embroidery required delicate handling, and the small, detailed work was challenging. As you worked, your hands occasionally brushed against his, sending small electric shocks through your skin. Hongjoong seemed oblivious to the effect his closeness was having on you, or perhaps he was just as affected but hid it well.

“Your studio’s so awfully quiet,” you murmured, breaking the silence. The quiet had become almost oppressive, making you hyper-aware of every small sound and movement.

Hongjoong chuckled softly. “I usually play music when I’m working,” he admitted. “I don’t like the silence. It can feel... lonely.”

“Then why haven’t you played any songs so far?” you asked, genuinely curious. The thought of him working alone in silence, surrounded by the tools of his craft, seemed sad.

He paused for a moment, considering his response. A small smile played on his lips as he looked at you. “Your presence alone is enough to drown it all out,” he said simply, his eyes meeting yours. There was a sincerity in his voice that made your heart skip a beat.

The room felt suddenly smaller, the air charged with something unspoken as you felt warmth spread through you. Hongjoong’s words were unexpected, and they left you feeling both flattered and slightly overwhelmed. You returned his smile, unable to think of a response that could adequately express what you were feeling. It’s mildly frustrating how you could never seem to be able to trust the words wanting to come out of your mouth whenever he was around.

Once you were finally done with the task Hongjoong assigned you, you leaned back, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. It was a small victory, perhaps, but it felt like a significant one. Hongjoong noticed your expression and tilted his head in curiosity. “What’s the matter?” he asked, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

You shrugged, still smiling. “Nothing, really. It’s just... you asked me for help. I mean, you don’t usually do that, so it’s kind of a surprise.”

He mirrored your smile, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “I guess you’re right,” he admitted, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I don’t usually ask for help. But... I don’t know. I felt comfortable enough to ask you.”

There was a brief silence as he contemplated his own words, realizing at that moment just how much he had let his guard down around you. It was a strange feeling, one that left him feeling both vulnerable and relieved. It was dangerous, he knew, to let someone in so easily, especially in a world where trust was a rare commodity. But somehow, despite the potential risks, he found that he couldn’t bring himself to care. There was something about you that made him feel at ease, something that made the usual walls he kept up around himself feel unnecessary.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, his phone, which had been lying on the floor atop a piece of fabric, lit up with a notification. You glanced over and immediately recognized the wallpaper: a candid photo of Hongjoong with Pompidou, the one you had taken and sent him right before bed that night. You smiled, a soft, heartfelt expression. “You set that as your lockscreen?”

Hongjoong picked up the phone, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he looked at the image. “Yeah,” he admitted, glancing at you before reading the notification—a message from Wooyoung. It was one that demanded a response, but in that moment, he decided to just set his phone aside for now, his attention fully on you. “It’s only fair enough if I do the same thing you did, right?”

You chuckled, the sound light and airy. “I guess so,” you replied, the atmosphere between you warm and comfortable.

As the hours passed, you both became so engrossed in your work that time seemed to slip away unnoticed. It wasn’t until you both finally finished the design that you realized just how late—or rather, how early—it was. You stood up, stretching your arms above your head, feeling the satisfying ache of a long night’s work. The outfit you had both labored over was stunning—a perfect blend of deep, earthy tones and detailed embroidery, capturing the essence of autumn with its rich textures and warm hues. The fabric was soft yet structured, the design elegant yet grounded, reflecting the beauty of the season in every stitch.

You turned to Hongjoong, a wide grin on your face, and held both your hands up. He looked at you, confused for a moment, before realizing what you wanted. With a laugh, he raised his hands and high-fived you, the sound echoing in the quiet studio.

“Great job,” you both said almost simultaneously, laughter bubbling up between you. You glanced around the studio, the mess of fabrics and tools evidence of the hard work you had put in.

As the adrenaline of the work began to fade, you pulled your phone from your pocket, intending to check the time. When you saw the display, your eyes widened in shock. “It’s 4 in the morning already?” you gasped, incredulous.

Hongjoong glanced at the clock, a look of surprise crossing his face. “Wow, I didn’t even notice,” he said, running a hand through his hair. The fatigue was beginning to set in, but there was also a contentness in the air, a satisfaction over a job well done.

As the realization of the late hour settled in, both you and Hongjoong decided it was time to clean up the studio before heading home. The room was a testament to your hard work: sketches strewn about, fabrics piled in corners, and various tools scattered across the desks. Hongjoong paused, glancing at you with a gentle smile. “I’m just going to use the restroom real quick,” he said, his voice soft yet a little slurred.

“Go ahead,” you replied, waving him off with a tired smile of your own. As he left, you turned your attention to one of the desks, starting to gather the scattered mess. Your movements were slow, each task requiring more effort as exhaustion began to weigh heavily on you. Feeling your body grow weary, you dragged a chair over to the desk and sat down, intending to sort through the papers and materials.

But as soon as you rested your head on your folded arms, the world around you started to blur. The soft hum of the city outside, the quiet ticking of a clock somewhere in the studio—all these sounds faded into the background as your eyes fluttered shut. You hadn’t intended to fall asleep, but the comfort of the moment and the sheer exhaustion from the long night overcame you.

Just as you drifted off, Hongjoong returned to the studio, ready to continue cleaning. “Let’s—” he began, only to stop mid-sentence as his gaze fell upon you. You were peacefully asleep, your head resting on the desk, breathing softly. A tender smile crept onto his lips as he observed you, taking in the serene expression on your face. An unexpected gentle warmth in his chest then came by, yet it felt so on-brand with his nature that he didn’t even notice it.

Without a second thought, Hongjoong quietly crossed the room and scooped you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style out of the studio. You were light and fragile in his embrace, and he was careful not to jostle you. The hallway was quiet, the early morning light just beginning to seep through the windows, casting a soft glow on the scene.

Hongjoong carried you into his office, where he gently laid you down on the couch. He adjusted a pillow beneath your head, ensuring you were comfortable. Glancing around, he looked for something to cover you with, wanting to keep you warm. When he couldn’t find any spare fabric or blanket, he hesitated for a moment before pulling off his sweater, revealing the plain black shirt he wore underneath. He draped the sweater over you, its warmth and the faint scent of his cologne enveloping you.

He took a step back, his eyes lingering on your peaceful form. There was something intimate about the scene, a quiet moment of care that felt oddly significant. Hongjoong shook his head with a soft chuckle, feeling a strange mix of affection and concern.

With a sigh, he walked over to his office chair and sat down, glancing at the stack of papers and sketches on his desk. If he was still awake at this hour, he might as well get some work done. But as he picked up a pencil and began to sketch, his thoughts kept drifting back to you, sleeping soundly on the couch. The room was quiet, the only sound being the faint scratch of pencil on paper and your steady breathing.

You seemed to have already weaved the threads of your veins in the fabric of his mind, and it was dangerous.

—

Your eyelids flutter open, the soft murmur of voices slowly pulling you from sleep. You blink against the light filtering through the room, momentarily disoriented by your unfamiliar surroundings. As your vision clears, you see two figures across the room, engaged in a hushed conversation.

“I know you can only be quiet once a year, so why not use that trial card now and keep your voice down?” Hongjoong’s voice, though hushed, came off irritated.

“I’m not being loud!” came Wooyoung’s indignant reply, his voice just a tad louder than a whisper.

Their exchange halted abruptly as you sat up on the couch, instinctively pulling the sweater around you closer. The room was spacious, filled with a blend of modern and personal touches, but what caught your eye was the two men now looking at you, their conversation forgotten.

Hongjoong was the first to speak, “See? I told you not to be so loud,” he chided Wooyoung, who threw his hands up in mock defeat.

“Hongjoong?” you murmured, still groggy and a bit confused. Hongjoong was quick to leave his chair, grabbing a cup of coffee as he approached you. The rich aroma of the brew filled your senses as he placed the cup gently on the glass table in front of you.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice soft and soothing. “You fell asleep earlier at dawn while we were cleaning up the studio. I didn’t want to wake you, so I brought you here to my office.”

You nodded slowly, the events of the night starting to come back to you. As your consciousness fully returned, you noticed Wooyoung sitting comfortably in a chair across from Hongjoong’s desk. He offered you a friendly smile, his dimples deepening. “Hey there—didn’t mean to wake you up, sorry about that.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you assured him, smiling back before turning your attention to Hongjoong, who had now taken a seat across from you. The atmosphere felt unexpectedly cozy, almost domestic.

“Did you end up cleaning the whole studio by yourself?” you asked, a hint of guilt in your voice.

Hongjoong shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “No, I just left it as it was when I brought you here. I finished cleaning up an hour ago.”

Wooyoung, not being able to hold back his curiosity, leaned forward slightly, “So, why were you here all night?” He figured it should be in his best interest to always throw out inquiries about your relationship with Hongjoong here and there whenever you were around, because 1. He and Seonghwa genuinely believe the details are their necessities, and 2. He will never be able to gather any intel from Hongjoong.

You chuckled lightly, the memory of the previous night making you feel both amused and sheepish. “We got too caught up finishing one of Hongjoong’s designs. We didn’t even realize how late it was until we were done.”

Wooyoung made a mental note to share this little tidbit with Seonghwa later while he gave you a playful grin, as if to say he knew something was up, but he didn’t press further.

Hongjoong then turned his attention back to you, his expression sincere. “Do you want to go home now? I can drive you to your apartment.”

You shook your head, remembering the errand you needed to run. “No, I actually have something to do today. My landlord asked me to pick up some flowers from a shop for her. She wants to change the arrangements in her vases.”

Hongjoong looked intrigued. “Does she have a specific flower shop in mind?”

“Yeah, she does,” you replied, nodding. “I know the address, but I’m not exactly sure how to get there.”

Without missing a beat, Hongjoong offered, “I can drive you there.”

You glanced between him and Wooyoung, feeling a bit hesitant. “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t want to leave Wooyoung here…”

Little did you know, Wooyoung was already picturing you and Hongjoong at a wedding venue, the image making him inwardly chuckle. He waved a dismissive hand, grinning. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Hongjoong turned back to you, his eyes warm and reassuring. You sighed softly, finally giving in to his offer. He smiled, clearly pleased. As you stood up from the couch, you realized you were still clutching his sweater. You blushed, holding it out to him apologetically.

He shook his head, a gentle smile on his lips. “You should keep it and put it on. The weather forecast said it would be a bit windy today.”

You hesitated for a moment before slipping the sweater on, the fabric feeling warm and comforting against your skin. It hung loosely on you, a stark contrast to how it fit Hongjoong. The sight seemed to catch him off guard; his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, a look of something akin to awe crossing his features. Wooyoung cleared his throat, pretending to cough, snapping Hongjoong out of his thoughts. He sent Wooyoung an annoyed glare, which only made the younger man grin wider.

A few minutes later, you found yourself in Hongjoong’s car, the morning air crisp and slightly chilly. Despite the warmth of the sweater, you shivered a little, the coolness seeping in. Hongjoong noticed immediately, reaching over to turn off the air conditioner. You glanced at him, smiling gratefully. “Thank you,” you murmured, appreciating the small gesture.

As he drove, the city slowly waking up around you, the car ride was filled with a comfortable silence, broken occasionally by small talk. The earlier events played in your mind, the way Hongjoong had looked at you, the warmth in his voice, the care he showed. It was all so… unexpected, yet it felt oddly right. As the car moved smoothly through the streets, you felt a strange sense of contentment, a warmth that had nothing to do with the sweater or the car’s heater.

After a few more minutes of driving, the soft chime of bells greeted you as you and Hongjoong stepped into the quaint flower shop. The air was filled with the delicate fragrance of blooms, creating an atmosphere of calm and serenity. You couldn’t help but marvel at the array of flowers on display, each one vibrant and inviting in its own way.

“All the flowers look so beautiful,” you murmured, your eyes wandering over the petals and leaves.

Hongjoong glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips before he turned his attention back to the shop. “They sure do.”

A young woman behind the counter greeted you both with a warm smile, her voice cheerful. “Good morning! Please let me know if you need any assistance.”

You returned her smile, nodding politely. “Thank you, we will.”

As you and Hongjoong wandered through the aisles, the colors and scents enveloped you, making it feel like you were walking through a garden in full bloom. You turned to him, a playful glint in your eyes. “Hey, if you were a sweet old lady, what flowers would you like to put in your vases?”

He chuckled softly, considering the question with surprising seriousness. After a moment, he replied, “I think I’d choose peonies. They’re elegant, with layers of petals that unfold like a story. And they symbolize prosperity and good fortune—qualities any old lady would appreciate.”

You nodded thoughtfully, impressed by his choice and the sentiment behind it. As you pondered his suggestion, the soft melody of “La Vie en Rose” began to play through the shop’s speakers, filling the space with a romantic, timeless charm. You hummed along, the familiar tune bringing a smile to your face.

Suddenly, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you found Hongjoong holding out a single rose, his expression playful. “For you, my lady,” he said with a dramatic flair.

You laughed, delighted by his unexpected gesture. Placing a hand over your heart, you accepted the rose with a mock curtsy. “Why, thank you, kind sir.”

The two of you shared a light-hearted laugh, the atmosphere between you warm and easy. The woman at the counter, watching your interaction with a knowing smile, subtly turned up the volume of the music, as if encouraging the moment. As the music swelled, Hongjoong offered his hand to you, a glint of amusement and sincerity in his eyes. “May I have this dance?” he asked, his voice low and inviting.

A smile spread across your face, the offer too delightful to refuse. Placing your hand in his, you allowed him to lead you into an impromptu dance. The two of you moved into the open space between the aisles, surrounded by the vibrant colors and fragrances of the flowers. Hongjoong began by twirling you gently, the world around you blurring as you spun, the music carrying you both into a rhythm that felt natural and unforced.

As he twirled you back toward him, you found yourself closer than before, your steps in sync as you followed his lead. Hongjoong’s movements were confident yet gentle, his hands guiding you with a surety that spoke of trust. He spun you out again, your skirts flaring slightly, and then pulled you back, his hand resting lightly on your waist as you moved together.

The dance took on a playful tone, with Hongjoong adding little flourishes—an extra twirl here, a playful dip there. You laughed, the joy of the moment bubbling up uncontrollably. Each movement felt like a conversation, unspoken yet understood, the two of you communicating through the language of dance. The flowers around you blurred into a vibrant backdrop, the soft hues of roses, daisies, and peonies blending together as you spun and swayed.

Hongjoong led you into a classic ballroom move, his hand firm on your back as he guided you into a dip. As you leaned back, your eyes locked onto his, the room seeming to narrow until it contained only the two of you. There was a shared breath, a moment suspended in time where the music, the shop, and the world outside ceased to exist. The dip was graceful, his hold secure, and for a brief moment, you felt as though you were floating, supported entirely by him.

As he pulled you back up, the song reached its crescendo, the final notes lingering in the air like a whispered secret. The two of you stood there, breathless and grinning, the joy of the dance and the unexpected intimacy of the moment lingering between you. The corners of your mouth lifted into a teasing smile as you remarked, “Didn’t know you had that whimsy in you.”

Hongjoong laughed in return, a sound that felt warm and familiar now, like a melody that lingered long after the music had ended. He shook his head, eyes crinkling with amusement. “And here I thought I was full of surprises.” He then paused, tilting his head slightly as he regarded you with curiosity. “But, I have to ask—have you ever taken ballroom dance lessons? You moved like you knew exactly what you were doing.”

You found yourself laughing again, shaking your head at the suggestion. “Not at all,” you replied, your voice light and amused. Unconsciously, you twirled the single rose he had given you during your playful dance, its soft petals brushing against your fingers. You hadn’t even realized you were still holding it, the delicate flower becoming an extension of the moment you had just shared.

Hongjoong’s eyes followed the movement of the rose, his expression thoughtful as you continued. “Dancing was just something I did for fun,” you explained, your tone growing a bit more nostalgic. “Back when I worked at the diner in Arcadia Bay, I’d sometimes be left alone to close up after a long shift. If it got really late, and the place was empty, I’d turn up the speakers and play whatever music I could find. The freshly cleaned floors made it easy to glide around, so I’d dance while I cleaned. It was my way of winding down, I guess.”

He leaned against the wall beside him, his posture relaxed yet attentive. A fond smile played on his lips as he listened, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze softened. “I never would have guessed,” he said quietly, almost as if the thought was meant more for himself than for you.

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued by the tone of his voice. “Really?” you asked, your voice dropping slightly, matching the intimacy of the moment.

For a long, quiet moment, the two of you just looked at each other. It was one of those instances where words felt unnecessary, where the silence between you spoke volumes. The connection that had sparked during your dance now hung between you, a quiet understanding that neither of you was quite ready to acknowledge fully.

Hongjoong’s eyes held yours, the intensity of his gaze making the world around you blur into insignificance. The soft hum of the flower shop, the vibrant colors of the blooms, even the scent of fresh petals—all of it faded away until there was only him, standing just a few feet away, yet feeling impossibly close.

But then, the gentle chime of the shop’s doorbell rang out, breaking the spell. The sound was like a pin pricking the bubble that had formed around the two of you, pulling you both back to the reality of where you were. The moment shattered, and you blinked, the trance broken.

You cleared your throat, a slight flush of embarrassment coloring your cheeks as you tore your gaze away from Hongjoong’s. He straightened up, pushing himself off the wall, his own expression a mix of awkwardness and something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

“We should probably keep looking around,” you said, your voice sounding a little more hurried than you intended. You needed to anchor yourself back into the present, to remember why you were here in the first place.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong agreed, his tone softer now, almost subdued. His eyes flickered briefly to the floor before he glanced back up at you. “We should.”

After what felt like a careful, almost meditative process of choosing the right flowers, you and Hongjoong finally settled on a selection that seemed to embody the essence of Madame Dupont’s home. The bouquet was a harmonious blend of soft, pale pink peonies that spoke of tenderness and nostalgia, interspersed with the rich, deep purples of lilacs that exuded a subtle yet undeniable elegance. You added delicate sprigs of baby’s breath to weave through the arrangement, creating an ethereal touch that seemed to float among the other flowers. Finally, a few stems of white freesia were tucked in, their graceful blooms adding a layer of purity and lightness to the ensemble. It was a bouquet that, even in its stillness, seemed to tell a story—one of warmth, beauty, and timeless grace.

Satisfied with your choices, you and Hongjoong made your way to the counter to finalize the purchase. The young woman behind the register rang up your selection, and as the transaction was completed, you stepped away from the counter, your mind suddenly jolted with the realization that you had left your phone somewhere in the aisles.

“Oh, I think I left my phone in one of the aisles,” you said, turning to Hongjoong with a small, sheepish smile. “You can go ahead; I’ll just grab it and meet you outside.”

He gave a nod, a relaxed smile on his lips. “Sure, I’ll wait by the car.”

With that, you watched as he made his way toward the exit, the sunlight catching in his hair as he pushed the door open and stepped outside. You quickly retraced your steps through the aisles, scanning the shelves until your eyes finally landed on the familiar shape of your phone, resting innocently among the vibrant blooms. You let out a soft sigh of relief, the tension in your shoulders easing as you picked it up.

Just as you were about to head out, the florist’s voice called out to you, halting your steps mere moments before you could reach the door. You turned to face her, curiosity piqued by the sudden interruption.

“Can I ask you something?” she began, a playful glint in her eyes as she nodded toward the window, where Hongjoong was now leaning casually against his car, his attention elsewhere as he waited for you. “Are you two dating?”

The question caught you off guard, and you instinctively waved your hand dismissively, shaking your head with a quick, almost flustered laugh. “Oh, no, we’re just good friends,” you explained, the words tumbling out in an attempt to clarify. “He’s just helping me out with buying flowers for my landlord today.”

The florist nodded in understanding, though a knowing smile played on her lips. She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I think you two would look cute together, though.”

You blinked in surprise, your eyes widening at her unexpected comment. Before you could form a response, she leaned in even closer, her tone even more hushed as she added, “The security cameras actually caught footage of your cute little dance together. Do you wanna see it, by any chance?”

Do you?

The question hung in the air, wrapping itself around your thoughts as you considered the offer. Why would you want to see it? You told yourself it was just a silly moment, a fleeting bit of fun that didn’t hold any deeper meaning. But the more you thought about it, the more a strange, inexplicable curiosity began to take hold. The idea of watching that moment from an outsider’s perspective, of seeing the way you and Hongjoong moved together, felt oddly compelling. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why it mattered—or why you were even hesitating—but the thought lingered, tugging at the edges of your mind.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of internal deliberation, you found yourself nodding. “Sure, I guess I’d like to see it.”

But then, a new thought occurred to you, and your gaze flickered to the door where Hongjoong was still waiting. “But he’s waiting outside,” you murmured, the conflict between curiosity and courtesy evident in your voice.

The florist seemed to catch on immediately, her expression softening with understanding. “No worries,” she said, her tone light and reassuring. “I can send it to you. Here,” she quickly jotted down her contact number and handed it to you with a smile. “Maybe you’ll change your mind later, but if you ever get curious, I’m just a message away.”

Her words were punctuated by a knowing smile, one that hinted at an understanding beyond the surface of your interaction. You returned her smile, feeling a mix of gratitude and a strange sense of anticipation as you tucked the number away.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice sincere as you bid her farewell.

As you stepped outside, the warmth of the setting greeting your skin, you saw Hongjoong look up from his spot by the car. The brief exchange with the florist still lingered in your mind, but you pushed it aside, focusing instead on the simple pleasure of being in his company.

“There you are.” The look in his eyes was fond as he pushed himself off from his car, rounding it to open the passenger seat’s door for you.

You muttered a silent comment of gratitude with a smile, ducking your head as you went inside and shuffled in your seat for about a couple times until you felt comfortable. As Hongjoong went inside the car seconds later, he turned towards you. “What were you two talking about?”

“Oh, the florist?” You tilted your head, and he nodded. It took you a short while to respond as you looked down on your lap. Eventually, you decided to finally meet his gaze. “She was just… asking me who we bought flowers for.”

The look on Hongjoong’s face seemed like an implication that he wasn’t satisfied with your answer, but he decided not to press further, settling with a small smile as he leaned back on his seat and began driving on the way to your apartment. As you and Hongjoong settled into the comforting ambience of his car while admiring the scenery of the warm sky outside, on the flip side, Seonghwa and Wooyoung, who were now snooping around Hongjoong’s studio, were having the time of their lives psychoanalyzing whatever’s going on between the two of you.

“Oh—speaking of, when I was on my way to my office, I crossed paths with one of your fellow photographers and they asked me about her relationship with Hongjoong. Asked him why they were suddenly curious about it and apparently they saw her wearing the sweater Hongjoong would usually wear to work on his lazier days…” Seonghwa trailed off, and Wooyoung’s eyes widened at his words.

Wooyoung snapped his fingers in the air, getting lost in the moment and slamming his hands on one of the tables in Hongjoong’s studio. “Right! I forgot to tell you, but, see, here’s the thing. So, you already know she stayed the night here with the willingness to help Hongjoong finish one of his designs, right?”

Wooyoung waited for a silent nod from Seonghwa, seeing it as a sign for him to continue. When he got what he wanted with the older man, he cleared his throat and leaned forward. “I can’t be too sure about this, but when I visited his office earlier in the morning, she was there, laying down on his couch with his sweater draped over her.”

“I think some sort of seismic activity from my jaw hitting the floor just occured,” Seonghwa whispered to himself. “So, what else is there for me to know about the sweater?”

Wooyoung clasped his hands together, leaning back on his seat slightly. “She told him her landlord asked her to buy some new flowers for her vases today, and he offered to drive her there. At that moment, she realized she was still holding onto his sweater and held it out to him. But, much to the surprise of all of us in the room except for Hongjoong, he told her to not only keep it, but he also told her to wear it because the weather’s cloudy outside! I’m telling you, there has to be something going on between them!”

“I wouldn’t say that…” Seonghwa muttered in a low tone while rubbing his chin. “They’re definitely not dating yet, that’s for sure, but somehow… I feel like Hongjoong’s got heart eyes for her yet is blissfully unaware of it. I mean, you know how he is.”

Just as Wooyoung was about to contribute his own theories to the gossip session, his phone rang in his pocket. Pulling it out, he was greeted by a message notification from Hongjoong flashed on his lockscreen.

It might take a while before I can get back there. The traffic on the way to her apartment is horrible right now.

“...”

“Yep, he’s definitely unaware of it.”

—

“Um…”

You didn’t exactly have the capability to own up to your words, were you to ever say that you’re used to having guests come over your house. The first and last person who’s ever done such a thing was Chloe, and most of the time, she’d only wish to bask in the silence of your house when she felt like hers was becoming too loud to bear.

Now, here you were, feet swaying slightly to the sides as you fiddled with the hem of Hongjoong’s sweater that you haven’t noticed you still haven’t taken off, while he was settled comfortably on the couch, looking at you with a soft gaze—as always…?

“Is everything alright? It’s alright if you’ve changed your mind about having me stay over for dinner, just say the word and I’ll—”

“No, no, that’s not, um…” You were quick to wave your hands off, shaking your head and instinctively moving one step forward, as if to stop him from leaving your abode. “I just… Would you like some water? Or coffee, perhaps? Wait, no, sorry, that sounded so stupid, there’s no way you would want coffee at 7PM in the evening—”

His gentle laugh stopped your mouth from running even faster, and you looked at him with a confused gaze. “Is that why you’ve been silently staring at me for the past few seconds?”

“Well,” you began as you looked around the room, pressing your lips together, making it form a thin line. “I mean, I’m not used to having guests come over, so I just didn’t know what the appropriate thing to say was…”

“A glass of water would be lovely.”

“Right. A glass of water. Gotcha.”

His gaze followed you as you rounded the couch and made your way to the kitchen by your fridge, yet he turned his eyes back to the television in front of him the moment your head subtly moved to the side. Having a nice conversation with the carpet on the floor as he patiently waited for you to come back, he finally turned his head back up with a look of gratitude as you placed a glass of water on the table in front of him. “Thank you,” he said before chugging it all down in one go.

You settled down on the empty spot beside him, making the cushion underneath you sink. You turned your body slightly towards him, the fabric of his loose denim pants rubbing against the skin of your thigh lightly. “Is there anything you’d like to have for dinner? Any favorite dishes, maybe?”

“Actually,” he began, settling his palms on his thighs. “I was thinking we could cook dinner together. It wouldn’t be fair for you to do all the work, especially after a long day.”

You were quick to shake your head in protest. “Hongjoong, I’m the one who invited you over for dinner. It’s my responsibility to make sure everything’s taken care of. You’ve had a long day yourself, and I wouldn’t want to—”

“Let me.”

“...Please?” he soon added, looking at you with a mildly pleading gaze. After a few seconds of contemplation, you finally gave in, responding to his offer with a nod of resignation, which made him smile. It’s endearing how you never have to do anything alone, as long as he’s around. Just how much longer would it take until the idea of doing things without his aid becomes unimaginable?

As you and Hongjoong stood up and made your way to the kitchen, you decided to keep the conversation light and breezy, your earlier question slipping out again as you searched for a starting point. “So… is there any favorite dish you’d like to eat tonight?” you asked out of curiosity.

Hongjoong hummed thoughtfully, leaning against the counter as he crossed his arms. He tilted his head slightly, as if searching through the vaults of his memory. “Hmm… there is one dish that comes to mind, actually. It’s something my mother used to make for me all the time when I was a kid. It’s kind of a comfort food for me, I guess.”

Your interest piqued as you looked at him with anticipation. “Oh? What dish is that?”

He smiled warmly, the light in his eyes softening with nostalgia. “It’s a type of kimchi jjigae, but not just any kind. My mom would make it with extra soft tofu, lots of garlic, and a touch of sweetness from a bit of sugar or honey. She’d add in some pork belly, but the real kicker was the homemade anchovy broth she’d use. It gave the stew this deep, rich flavor that I haven’t been able to replicate on my own. And she always served it with freshly steamed rice and a side of crunchy radish kimchi.”

You could almost taste the dish as he described it, and you nodded along. “That sounds amazing. I’d love to try making it together—if you’re up for it?”

Hongjoong’s face brightened, and he smiled in excitement. “I’d love that too. I’ll do my best to guide you through it, but fair warning, my cooking skills aren’t nearly as good as my mom’s,” he joked while raising his hands in mock surrender.

“I literally worked at a diner for a good long while before I got fired for the most ridiculous reason ever. I’ve got you,” you reassured him with a smile.

You both began the process, starting with reaching for the tofu from the fridge. As you turned back, you nearly collided with Hongjoong. His hand was just inches from yours, holding the green onions, and the proximity caught both of you off guard. For a moment, you were both still, the space between you charged with something electric. His eyes met yours, and you saw a flicker of surprise there. Your breath hitched slightly, feeling your nerves go haywire until Hongjoong cleared his throat softly and took a step back.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured, his voice a little lower than before.

“No, it’s okay,” you replied quickly, your cheeks warming as you placed the tofu on the counter. The lingering closeness left your skin tingling, and you tried to focus on what you were supposed to do, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the way he had looked at you.

Hongjoong began instructing you on how to make the anchovy broth, and you both worked together, cleaning the dried anchovies and preparing the kelp, your hands occasionally reaching for the same ingredient at the same time. At one point, when you both reached for the soy sauce, his fingers wrapped around the bottle just as yours brushed against the cool glass. The brief contact made you both pause, and you glanced up to find him already looking at you, his expression annoyingly soft.

The moment stretched out, a silent exchange passing between you before he finally released the bottle, allowing you to take it. As you poured the soy sauce into the pot, you couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind—and if it mirrored the thoughts swirling in your own.

As you leaned over to check the pot on the stove, you felt Hongjoong’s presence close behind you. He didn’t touch you, but you could feel the warmth of his body just inches away, and the awareness of how close he was made your pulse quicken. His breath fanned lightly against your neck as he leaned in to adjust the heat, and for a split second, you thought he might press closer, but he didn’t. Instead, he lingered there, close enough that you could feel the energy between you, almost tangible in the small space.

“You’re really good at this,” he commented, his voice close to your ear, making your heart skip a beat. The compliment was simple, but for some reason, you felt something different due to the way the words came out of his mouth.

“Thanks,” you replied, your voice nearly hushed as you turned slightly to meet his gaze. “I just hope it turns out the way you remember.”

He smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. “I’m sure it will.”

The moment lingered longer than it probably should have, and you found yourself staring at him, your thoughts racing. His eyes were warm and inviting, and for a second, you wondered if he might be thinking the same thing you were. But before you could dwell on it, he stepped back, giving you room to breathe.

As you continued cooking, the conversation shifted to lighter topics—his favorite childhood memories, your own cooking mishaps, and the occasional joke that had you both laughing. At one point, when the time to add the garlic and kimchi to the pot came, you reached for a knife just as he did, your fingers accidentally grazing the back of his hand. You both froze for a moment, and when you pulled your hand back, he did the same, a soft laugh escaping his lips.

“Sorry,” he murmured, his gaze lingering on your hand for just a moment longer before he returned to his task.

“No problem,” you replied, feeling a bit flustered as you resumed chopping the garlic.

A little later, while you were stirring the pot, Hongjoong came up behind you, his hands gently guiding yours on the ladle. His touch was light, but the effect was immediate. Your heart skipped a beat as his fingers rested over yours, and you felt the warmth of his breath against your temple as he leaned in closer.

“You’re doing great,” he whispered gently.

As the stew continued to simmer, you found yourselves moving in closer proximity, your movements almost synchronized as you prepared the final touches. You were reaching for the lid of the pot, intending to cover it, when you suddenly felt Hongjoong’s hand on your lower back, a light touch that made you pause. He was standing behind you, his body just inches from yours, and you could feel the warmth of him seeping through your clothes.

You turned your head slightly to look at him, and the closeness of his face to yours caught you off guard. For a split second, you thought he might lean in and close the distance between you. The air was thick with anticipation, your breath caught in your throat as his gaze dropped to your lips.

But then, just as quickly as the moment had come, it passed. He stepped back, his hand leaving your back as he cleared his throat. “Let’s not overcook it,” he said lightly, but there was some sort of hesitance in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

You nodded, feeling a mix of relief and somewhat disappointment as you placed the lid on the pot.

As the final moments of cooking approached, when you reached for the soup bowls at the same time, your fingers brushed against his once more, but this time, neither of you pulled away immediately. You both laughed softly, but the way his hand lingered over yours told you there was more to this moment than just a little joke.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, your cheeks heating up as you finally withdrew your hand.

“It’s okay,” he replied, his voice soft, almost tender. “Really.”

When you both finally sat down to eat, the tension from earlier hung in the air like a weight you couldn’t quite shake. Hongjoong tried to focus on the meal, making small talk about the dish. “This really turned out well,” he said, breaking the silence with a warm smile. “You did a great job with the broth.”

You nodded, returning his smile, but you could feel your mind drifting back to those moments in the kitchen—the closeness, the way he felt so close, yet so far away. “Thanks,” you replied, trying to sound casual. “It’s all because you knew exactly what to do.”

Despite the light conversation, your thoughts kept slipping away from the food in front of you and back to the way his fingers had lingered on yours, how his breath had warmed your skin when he leaned in. You could hardly focus on anything else, and the awkwardness you felt only seemed to grow with each passing moment.

Hongjoong, on the other hand, seemed more composed, as if the closeness had been as natural to him as breathing. You could tell that the only unease he felt was a reflection of your own, a mirror to the nerves that were slowly tying you up in knots. But even so, there was something in his eyes—something just beneath the surface that told you he wasn’t completely unaffected either.

“This is really good,” you commented after a few bites, desperate to fill the silence with anything other than your racing thoughts. “I’d love to eat this more often.”

He looked up at you, a small, pleased smile forming on his lips. “I’m glad you like it. It’s one of my favorites.”

You hesitated for a moment, your mind scrambling for something else to say, something to ease the tension, even if only slightly. “You’ll have to come over more from now on,” you joked. “So we can make it again.”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you realized how they might have sounded, and your heart skipped a beat. You hadn’t meant it to come out that way, but now it was too late to take it back.

Hongjoong paused, his fork hovering in midair as he glanced up at you. For a moment, he just stared, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as his gaze lingered on your lips.

You tried to focus on your food, your grip on the utensils slowly loosening as you found yourself getting lost in his eyes. It was as if everything around you had faded away, leaving only the two of you in that quiet, dimly lit room. Not even the warm lights scattered all over your living room were able to help. You glanced down at his lips, and for a second, you thought he might be leaning in closer, that maybe this time he wouldn’t hesitate.

But then you quickly tore your gaze away, trying to steady your breathing. “Your food’s getting cold,” you muttered, the words coming out softer than you intended.

Hongjoong blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, and he quickly looked away, clearing his throat. “Right, sorry,” he replied, a touch of embarrassment in his voice as he rubbed the back of his neck. You noticed his hand ghost over his face, as if trying to hide the rosy tint that had crept into his cheeks.

Fortunately, before you knew it, dinner was already over, and you found yourselves standing at your front door, the cool evening air slipping in from the hallway. Hongjoong shifted slightly, his hand lingering on the doorframe as he turned to face you.

“Thanks for inviting me over today,” he said with a gentle smile. “I had a really great time.”

You smiled back, though you couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “No, thank you for coming with me to buy those flowers. I probably would’ve been lost without your help.” You let out a light laugh, hoping to ease the tension you both felt, but it only seemed to make it more palpable.

As the conversation lulled, you became acutely aware of just how close he was standing, the space between you shrinking as the seconds ticked by. You could feel your pulse quickening, a soft flutter in your chest that made it hard to breathe normally. There was a moment of silence, just the two of you standing there, lost in each other’s eyes.

You took a small step forward, and almost unconsciously, he did the same, the gap between you closing even further. His hand slowly began to rise, moving towards your neck but stopping just short of touching your face. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he hesitated as if unsure whether he should take that final step.

For a second, you convinced yourself that he wouldn’t actually do it, that he would pull back just like before. But then, to your surprise, his hand found its way to your face, his touch gentle as his fingers brushed against your cheek.

Almost without thinking, you nuzzled into his hand, welcoming the touch as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Your own hand came up to rest on top of his, your fingers curling around his as if to anchor yourself in the moment, to make sure it wasn’t just a dream.

But just as you were about to say something, to lean in just a bit closer, the shrill ring of his phone cut through the quiet, startling you both. You flinched slightly, pulling back as you glanced down at the screen, which displayed Wooyoung’s name.

The sudden interruption felt like a cold splash of reality, and you quickly stepped back, trying to regain your composure. “You might need to answer that,” you mumbled, turning your face to the side to hide the disappointment in your expression.

Hongjoong hesitated, clearly torn between ignoring the call and staying in the moment with you. But seeing how you had pulled away, he sighed softly and stepped back as well. “Yeah, I probably should,” he said, his voice tinged with regret. “He’s been trying to reach me all day.”

You let out a small, forced laugh, finally looking back at him. “See you when I see you?”

He nodded, a reassuring smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, see you when I see you.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing in the doorway, watching as he disappeared down the hall. The moment the door closed behind him, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding, leaning against the door as you slid down onto the floor.

Your heart was still racing, the memory of his touch still lit aflame, and you couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if Wooyoung hadn’t called—if that tension would have finally broken, or if you both would have continued to dance around it, pretending it wasn’t there.

It was all confusing, truly. The way his gaze kept traveling back and forth between your lips and your eyes, the way he kept initiating small touches here and there that seemed to still have been lingering on your skin even up till now, the way it felt like you two were separate threads tangled up in each other attempting to break free from the knot. What was most confusing was how you didn’t even mind any of it. Maybe it was all bound to happen, maybe the circumstances required the proximity, maybe he just couldn’t move around that much.

But your kitchen wasn’t even that small.

🪞 — lividstar.

[lividstar]

愤怒的星星 ★ — COLLISION OF PARALLEL LINES.

៚ wc: 17.6k

៚ fluff, punk!hongjoong x fem!reader, slowburn, ot8 cameos, college au except idk if i did it right, mutual pining, first few parts are just flashbacks, opposites attract (kinda?) will probably be a 2-part series

៚ The thought of enjoying your Saturday morning however you please may initially seem exciting, but it can become as daunting as weekdays when you end up with tasks even on your supposed days off—which, in your case, is none other than buying a psychological thriller book for your roommate, who claims she needs it in order to share a "common interest" with the nerdy guy from her linguistics class she seems to be obsessed with. You already saw it coming when you opened your phone to find numerous missed calls from her, but what you didn't expect was a coincidental encounter with a guy who seems to have visited the bookstore for the same reason as you. It only took you two more no-longer-so-coincidental encounters for you to realize just how deep you’ve fallen into the bottomless pit.

You never really tend to realize just how much of an effect a certain person’s presence has on you until you start to crave more of it during the times you fail to feel it around.

The first time you saw him was when you were walking in and out of your local bookstore’s aisles, fingers brushing through the rows of books neatly arranged according to their genres. For how long you’ve been doing the exact same thing, you begin to forget just why and how exactly visiting the place managed to sneak itself in between your routine for the day.

Rewinding the day’s events so far so you could recall what exactly were you doing inside a bookstore standing in front of an aisle solely for the psychological thriller genre, you vividly remember your roommate calling you in the middle of your morning stroll at the park asking if you could stop by a nearby bookstore and buy her a book she apparently needs for “academic purposes.”

You were hesitant at first, thinking she was probably airing out a false reason. With the amount of times you’d come home to the sight of her deeply engrossed in a complex thriller movie, you’d assume she wanted the book solely due to her interests.

You ran your eyes through the columns once more, sighing in relief when you finally found the book your roommate wanted you to buy. You took your phone out to take a picture of it and send it to her for confirmation, but just as you were about to reach for it, another person whose presence you failed to notice until now did so as well, making your hands brush against each other after reaching for the same book stacked in the sixth row of the shelf.

You immediately looked to the side and managed to catch a glimpse of his eyes slightly widening, and so did he with yours. You remember being the first one to snap back to reality, taking a step back to face him while waving your arms off in front of your chest.

“You can take it,” you said, awkwardly chuckling as you gestured for him to take the book instead. You figured you’d just buy a copy of it online, or if you’re going to be free on some days this week, perhaps you’d stop by other bookstores. Your roommate didn’t specify when exactly she needed the book, anyway.

He mirrors your actions instead of reaching for the book, gently pulling down the left cord of his earphones—you thought it was a subtle gesture of bouncing your initiation of small talk back to you, so you let your attention get taken away as your ears perked up to listen to whatever the stranger had to say.

“It’s fine, i’m sure you’ll need that one more than I do,” he said, pointing to the book neither of you were considering taking with a gentle smile. “I’ve actually read it five times already—just thought a sixth reread was necessary earlier in the morning, so here I am now.” He chuckled, and only then did you manage to get a good look at him.

His hair had a striking resemblance to the burgundy patterned carpets of the bookstore, and from the looks of it, you were able to tell from a single glance that it definitely wasn’t the first time he’s ever dyed his hair. Black sunglasses remained sat atop his head, and his ears were decorated in multiple piercings. He wore a layered chain necklace, the silver material of the accessories shining as the lights by the roof reflected on it. A dark red leather jacket was hung lazily over his shoulders, showing the black tank top he wore underneath. He was wearing black, ripped baggy jeans, and it was adorned with chains attached to its waistline. His combat boots were of the same color, and the shoelace of the left foot was undone—you couldn’t tell if it was on purpose or if he simply didn’t notice. He wore silver rings on almost each of his fingers, and you were able to see that one of his nails was painted black when he adjusted one of his rings. It almost made you smile, but it wasn’t until he cleared his throat that you realized you’ve been staring at him for about a minute or two.

Your eyes widened in surprise, awkwardly chuckling as you did your best not to give him the wrong impression. “Sorry, I was just...” you trailed off, not knowing what horrible excuse you should use to drag yourself out of a potentially awkward encounter. “...just wondering why you’d want to read the same book six times straight.” Great, you certainly didn’t come off weird, but you definitely sounded rude.

Just as you were about to hurriedly mutter out an apology, the man’s stifled laugh immediately put a halt to your train of thought. “It sounds strange, doesn’t it? My friends have been asking me the same question for a while now, so this isn’t really surprising for me. See, this book has a lot of foreshadowing in it, so I think It’s nice to reread it every once in a while to see the points I’ve missed.” He shrugged his shoulders, making his leather jacket fall off smoothly on one side.

He noticed you struggling with thinking of what to respond, so he took it upon himself and steered the conversation away from himself and towards you. “What about you? what were you going to buy the book for?” he asked, and you were quick to answer—thankful for his initiative.

“Going to the bookstore wasn’t originally part of today’s schedule, but apparently my roommate couldn’t get any more lazier and asked me to stop by to purchase the book for her because she can’t do it herself.”

There was something about the way you expressed your frustration (although jokingly) with a deadpanning look on your face that almost made him want to laugh, and you could tell by the way he was visibly fighting against the corners of his lips that were twitching upwards.

“That’s tough,” he stated the obvious as he ran his jewelry adorned fingers through his burgundy hair—with the way you saw a line of sweat drip down by the side of his face, you knew you weren’t the only one who found the bookstore to be in a strangely warm temperature today.

You saw a few air conditioners here and there on the walls, and they were working perfectly fine earlier, so you assumed they were probably just malfunctioning. “Are the air conditioners going through a malfunction or something?” he voiced out your thoughts for you as he practically asked himself the question with the way it came out as a whisper while he was looking around.

You took your cardigan off, and only then did you notice the stark contrast between your choices of outfits. You were clad in a pink knitted cardigan your mother made by her own hands—she gave it to you as a present for Christmas a while ago, and underneath it was a white camisole top decorated with lace and a pink ribbon on its center—something you added yourself. You wore a long, white ruffled skirt, a piece of clothing you bought online two years ago when you and your online best friend agreed upon buying it together to wear it the moment you’ll finally get the chance to meet up. You stopped talking to each other a year ago, so you just started to wear it to your own liking. You chose to wear the pink doll shoes you found at a thrift store a week ago, and the cherry on top was the white ribbon hair clips you placed on either side of your hair.

“They were doing just fine when I first came in, so I guess it has something to do with technical issues.” You shrugged, and the man mirrored your actions yet again as he proceeded to fully take off his leather jacket as well.

Just as he parted his lips to say something, your phone suddenly rang, making both of you look at the device you didn’t even notice you were still holding in your hands until now. Staring right into your eyes was your roommate’s caller id on the phone screen, and for a second, you were debating whether to answer or not.

You decided to ignore the latter, figuring the call was made regarding the book. You apologetically smiled at the man first, gesturing to your phone as he returned your smile, urging you to go ahead as he mouths something about checking out other sections of the book store so you could have some privacy.

Once he was out of the frame, you didn’t hesitate to press the green button, bringing the phone up to your ears. “Before I proceed to say anything, I need you to answer a question of mine first. Do you think you’re capable of committing murder today?” She asked from the other end of the line, making your brows furrow as you scoffed in both confusion and disbelief at the sudden confusion. “Am I what?”

“Please just say yes or no,” she said in a hurried tone. “No... why? Did something bad happen over there?” She chuckled nervously as you heard the shuffling of bedsheets, assuming she was either rolling around her bed or sitting up.

“No, but... you see, about the book I asked for you to buy... remember that guy from my linguistics class I told you about last weekend?” You were confused about where the conversation was heading, yet hummed in confirmation anyway. “I do. What about him?”

“Okay, so, thanks to my... connections, I found out just now that he owns an annotated physical copy of the book, and, if you’re already catching my drift...” she trailed off, yet the moment she heard your sigh from your end, she was quick to regain composure and stumble over her words.

“I’m sorry! I’m really sorry! I wouldn’t have sneaked the task in between your schedule if I had known beforehand—I just really don’t want to waste the opportunity of a potential connection between us... and, I mean, well, yeah, I should’ve done it by myself to begin with, but I wasn’t really thinking straight earlier in the morning so I—” you cut her off by ending the call, heading straight to your messages as you scrolled down to look for her contact number.

The sound of your nails clicking on the phone screen echoed across the empty aisle as you typed, “Go shoot your shot. Don’t stress it out, alright? Just make sure this won’t happen again. Love you :)” With a sigh, you turned your phone off and put it back inside your bag. You were happy for your roommate, yet at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel like you just wasted a portion of your day.

Exiting the aisle, your thoughts went back to the man you were just engaging in small talk with a few minutes ago, eyes darting around the bookstore to search for him. You didn’t see which direction he went when he left, already having your back turned against him the moment you heard his fading footsteps.

The man sitting by the register who seemed to be around the same age as you noticed you and was quick to call for your attention. “Are you looking for the redhead, miss?” And for a second, you were slightly embarrassed, but it was the truth, anyway, so you found yourself nodding wordlessly. “He already left a minute ago.”

Hearing those words come out of his mouth, you almost let a disappointed sigh slip out of your lips, but you were quick to cover it up. “I see. Thanks for telling me,” you said, flashing him a polite smile as he gave you his own.

Figuring there was no longer any purpose for you to stay inside the bookstore any longer, you headed to the exist, the clinking of the bells on top of the doors ringing in your ears as you swung it open, putting your cardigan back on when the cold temperature of the city hit your skin like a speeding truck. Only then did you realize you didn’t even get to ask for his name, and since then, he hadn’t left your mind for the rest of the day.

The next time wasn’t any different. You were taking a stroll at the park for a much-needed unwinding after taking your exams. Kids were running around and chasing each other by the grassy fields, couples were being all cute and cuddly as they sat by the benches, and some elderly people were walking around much like how you were, admiring the beautiful sceneries unfolding in front of their very own eyes.

Your pink dress was being carried away by the soft breeze, making it flow as you took one step after another. Thankfully, you chose to wear a long dress for the day, so you didn’t have to worry about any potential wardrobe malfunctions.

From a near distance, you saw a little boy standing by the grass fields pointing towards you. His voice was a little loud, so you managed to hear what he was saying to the two men he was with. “Wooyoung-hyung, look! A princess!”

The little boy’s comment caught you off guard, making you look the other way as you pretended not to hear the words he was saying, which were hard to ignore due to how loud he was speaking. “Kyungmin, she’s not a princess, and you can’t just point to strangers like that!”

The man who you assumed to be his older brother lightly scolded him, and for a second, you were debating between playing along with the child’s wide imagination—it wasn’t his fault for thinking you were a princess as he was still young, after all, or fleeing from the park so his attention would be directed to something else so his brother would stop scolding him. “But she is a princess! Seonghwa-hyung, you see it too, right?” The other man with them was probably a friend of the little boy’s brother.

“Well, Kyungmin, she might look like one, but she isn’t—” the man you assumed to be Seonghwa stopped in between his words all of a sudden, and the next thing you knew was the little boy was standing right in front of you, tugging on your dress that was still flowing due to the wind.

“Kyungmin!” Both men yelled his name in unison, but he ignored them, his attention fully focused on you instead. “Miss pretty lady! You’re a princess, right? Right?” He looked up at you with a smile, and once again, you found yourself ignoring the latter between your choices of how to handle the situation.

You sat down so you could see each other eye to eye, a fond smile spreading across your face as you let out a soft laugh. “You think I’m a princess?” You tilted your head, making him let out a gasp of disbelief. “But you are! Wooyoung-hyung and Seonghwa-hyung won’t believe me, but I know you are! Right?” he asked for confirmation again, making you laugh once more as you rested your hands on the area of your chest where your heart was.

“Well… I think it depends on what you want to believe. I won’t tell you whether I’m a princess or not, but if you think I am, then so be it. What you believe in is what matters the most, and not what anyone else does, don’t you think?”

You figured talking some wisdom into a boy who’s probably still in kindergarten wasn’t exactly the best way to handle the situation, but it’s not like you knew better ways. Seeing his smile grow even wider after hearing your words, though, was enough to let you know you handled it just fine. “So you are a princess! I knew it!” Okay, well, that was definitely not the reaction you were going for, but at least he’s happy, right?

“You should tell them that, too!” He pointed to where his brother and his friend stood, but this time, there were three of them, and the one standing in the middle was definitely not an unfamiliar face to you contrary to the two who stood by his side. You certainly couldn’t have been mistaken—especially not when you saw his burgundy hair.

Your eyes met briefly, yours widened and his completely normal, save for the fond gaze you assumed was probably directed to the little boy in front of you. He probably didn’t even recognize you at all. “Come with me, miss pretty lady! You should meet them so they’ll be proven wrong,” he said, reaching for your arm as he took a step towards where the three men stood.

When you didn’t budge from where you crouched at all, he looked back at you with a confused expression on his face. “What’s the matter, miss pretty lady?”

You chuckled awkwardly as you stood up, looking down at him. “They’re waiting for you, not me. Go on now, don’t keep them waiting. I’m sure you’ve proven them wrong already, anyway,” you said, using your free hand to take his off your wrist. “Are you sure? I…”

“Kyungmin!” His older brother called out his name once more, making his head turn to where they were all standing, patiently waiting for the little boy to go back to them. “See? You should go.” You ushered, making him look back and forth between you and his brother and his friends for about a few seconds.

“Well… okay, then.” The frown on his face was a huge contrast to the huge smile he once had a few seconds ago, and you were quick to do whatever you could to bring it back.

“Hey, don’t be sad, alright? It’s always better to spend days like this with a smile on your face,” you said, smiling at him fondly. “Will I get to see you again?” The sudden question put you at a loss for words, and you spent a good couple of seconds thinking of how to respond correctly.

“Neither of us know the answer to that, but if you ever see me again, I promise I’ll let you introduce me to your brother and his friends, okay?” It was definitely not the right thing to say, but it was certainly what the boy wanted to hear.

With the smile on his face returning, he waved at you enthusiastically, running back to the three men who have been waiting for him for quite a while now. He approached them with a cheerful expression on his face, and you watched them slowly start to smile as well while the little boy told them about his interaction with you.

Unbeknownst to you, your attention was unconsciously directed towards the burgundy haired man who was now exchanging laughter with his friends while the little boy was still going on about his story. This time, he was wearing a see-through black jacket with a beige compression long-sleeve shirt underneath, partnered with baggy denim jeans that were secured by a black belt with embellishments. His ears had less piercings this time, and so were the amount of necklaces he wore. His boots were the same as the ones you saw him wear when you first met him, and his fingers were still adorned with multiple accessories. You could tell he opted for a casual look today, yet he still looked as cool as ever. Perhaps it was due to the vibe he carries with him, and not just his choices of clothing itself. There’s still a huge contrast between your outfits.

The little boy didn’t mention his name when he was talking to you earlier, and that was the only thing you were disappointed about with your heartwarming interaction with him. You’d probably look strange if you were to approach them, yet it proved to be impossible either way as they now had their backs faced towards you, walking away as they continued their conversation. Luck really hasn’t been on your side lately. You wonder when it will be.

Three weeks later, and you’re now walking through the halls in search of your roommate. Thirty minutes ago, she sent you a message, telling you to meet her on the third floor. She didn’t really tell you why, and it drove you off the edge more than it should’ve—one thing you’ve always disliked was when people would ask you to meet up for an unspecified reason, or even worse, message you by texting you only your name and your name alone without telling you what’s the matter beforehand. So now, here you were, eyes searching the halls in hopes of finding a familiar face.

“Hey!” A familiar voice called out a few steps behind where you stood, making you immediately look back. Sighing in relief as you recognized who it was, your roommate made her way towards you, pushing past the small portion of people crowding the halls. “Sorry for asking to meet up all of a sudden—I know you hate it when I do this, but I promise this is the last time!” So was last week, you said in your thoughts.

“What’s this about, anyway? And it better not be about your crush from your linguistics class because I swear—” She cuts you off with an apologetic chuckle, making you sigh in disappointment. “Nope, I’m not doing it.”

Just as you were about to walk away, she held your arm to keep you steady in your place, desperately pleading as she shook your arm repeatedly. “Please, please just hear me out! I promise I’ll leave you alone after this!” No way in hell you would, you thought once again.

Still, you chose to hear her out anyway. Sure, she may be annoying at times—especially when it comes to her undying crush on the boy from her linguistics class, but you can’t really deny the fact that you hold a soft spot for her deep within. When it wasn’t about her man who technically isn’t her man but you’re sure will be her man one day, she was really fun to be around. She was loud and outgoing, a huge contrast to your calm and collected personality, and as different as you both may be, you feel the most comfortable around her compared to anyone and everyone else. Whenever she’d notice you were feeling down, she wouldn’t hesitate to speedrun to the nearest convenience store by where you both lived, buy you your favorite food even during the times her pockets are begging for her to leave them alone for once, and put on your favorite movie once she comes back.

So then, you now find yourself heading towards the library to look for yet another book her crush has apparently been frequently visiting the library for lately. You figured you should hire whoever’s airing all this information to her as your detective one day, if it ever came to it.

Apparently, the book is a tale as old as time, so he couldn’t really find a copy of it anywhere, hence why he chooses to visit the library on a daily basis to read it. Your roommate thought sharing the same interests with him would be a great way to deepen her “connection” with him—if they even had one to begin with, considering how the only bridge between both of them was the annotated book she borrowed from him—which she still hasn’t returned—and that was pretty much all of it. She claims she’s too shy to approach him, and maybe that’s why.

You found yourself standing in between two tall bookshelves once again, the situation being somewhat familiar to you in a way that almost made you laugh. This time, though, the air conditioners were working just fine, and you weren’t accompanied by a presence other than your own.

Your eyes search through the books neatly stacked in the shelves, squinting and inching closer to get a better view in case you accidentally miss the book you’re looking for. There was a blank space in between two books, and for a moment, you assume the book had already been borrowed by your roommate’s crush, or maybe someone else.

You were about to message your roommate to tell her about it, until you heard some shuffling from the other side of the shelf you were facing, drawing a confused expression on your face. You heard from one of your colleagues that the librarian was way too strict for everyone’s liking, so students would mostly stop by the library just to borrow a book, but never to actually stay.

Which student was brave enough to actually stop by the library to read? Wouldn’t they be at least a little scared to be yelled at to shut up over the smallest of things such as breathing like how a normally functioning person should?

Peeking through the empty space in between the books to see who it was, your eyes widened comically as you recognized the person solely from their hands resting on the table alone. The sight of a singularly colored nail and layers of rings and bracelets couldn’t have been more familiar to you.

But what was he doing here? His hair was half blonde and half black, though, so you were contemplating whether your assumptions about his identity were correct or not, but you knew there was only one way to find out—and it certainly wasn’t peeking through a bookshelf like a creep.

Exiting the aisle—a familiar experience once again, you slowly walked towards the table while rethinking your life decisions, wondering if you should just leave him alone and mind your own business. You were on the brink of considering it, but it wasn’t until you recognized what he was reading.

It was the book your roommate asked you to borrow from the library, and it was certainly the one meant to be placed in the blank space by the aisle you were searching through just now.

Your mind was racing with questions pleading to be answered—the first ones being, Who the hell is this man? Why do I keep seeing him around? Why did no one ever tell me he goes to the same university as I do? And what is his name?

You figured there couldn’t have been a better time for your questions to be answered other than now, and even if you were gambling with the possibilities of him either recognizing you or not feeling any sense of familiarity with you at all, you couldn’t really care less right now.

“Hey,” you were hesitant, making your voice come off as soft and barely above a whisper—and it certainly wasn’t due to your fear of being scolded by the librarian. The man shot up and immediately turned his head around, and as he stared at you with those eyes of his, you knew your assumptions regarding his identity were correct, after all.

For about a second or two, all he did was stare at you with a blank expression on his face, and you swore you were about to let the ground swallow you whole right there and then. But for the next second, his face softens as he flashes you a toothy grin, and the words that soon followed after it caught you completely off guard. “It’s you.” It’s you?

What on Earth could he have possibly meant by that? Does that mean he recognized you when his friend’s little brother was talking to you within a fair distance from where he and his friends stood by the park, after all? Does that mean he remembers? “I was starting to think I’d stop seeing you around. Turns out we’re closer than I thought we would be.” Okay, what?

“What?” You voice out your thoughts by accident, tilting your head in confusion as all he did in return was smile at you once more. “Third time’s the charm, after all, isn’t it?” He closes the book laid out in front of him on the table, pulling out the chair beside him, tapping on it as he gestured for you to take a seat.

You do so wordlessly, awkwardly fiddling with a loose stitch of your white knitted sweater adorned with baby pink strawberry patterns. How come you’ve never seen him around? With a face as strikingly beautiful as his, you’re sure you would’ve already noticed him long ago—or maybe you were just looking at the wrong places all along.

“He still thinks you’re a princess, you know.” He rests his elbow on the table, placing his chin on his hand as he looks at you with a smile. “Who?”

“Kyungmin—the little boy from the park, remember?” That was all it took for you to put two and two together and realize what he was talking about, making you let out a hum of realization, nodding soon after. “He hasn’t stopped talking to us about it, especially Wooyoung, since he’s his older brother and he’s pretty much the only one out of all of us who keeps on breaking his little bubble of imagination.”

The conversation flowed through more smoothly than you expected a few seconds ago, and the next thing you knew was you were stifling a chuckle, careful not to drive the librarian mad—actually, was she even still around right now? He was practically speaking in a normal tone and not in hushed whispers, so he should’ve been told off by now already. But he isn’t.

“It was a little hard trying to convince him to go back to you and your friends, honestly…” you said, rubbing the back of your neck as he chuckled at your response.

“Kids and their imaginations never fail to impress me. You know, when we went to the park again last night, he kept crying because he couldn’t see you anywhere. He said you promised you’d let him introduce you to us once you both meet each other again, so he was really upset. It was adorable, though.”

You found yourself smiling as you imagined the little boy crying in the arms of his brother due to not seeing you around, this time being the one chuckling.

“I didn’t mean to leave him hanging off by my words… I hope it wasn’t too much for your friend to handle his tantrums,” you said, smiling apologetically. He waves his arms off in front of his chest—another action appearing to be somehow familiar to you. “Don’t feel bad about it. Pretty sure Wooyoung’s used to it by now,” he responded, shrugging afterwards. He was right, the boy was his friend’s younger brother, after all.

Finding both yourselves at a loss for another topic to discuss, you opted for the first thing that came up in your head. “You changed your hair color,” you stated the obvious, rushing over to make a follow-up statement in order not to look stupid, “it suits you.”

But only after voicing it out did you realize that perhaps maybe leaving your first statement as it is would’ve been a better option. Unbeknownst to you, heat immediately flushed through his cheeks, but he was quick to cover it up, making you fail to notice the way your words made his breath hitch for a slight second. “You think so?”

“W-Well, yeah. Burgundy looked just as great, though.” It was a huge lie, though. Sure, burgundy looked good on him and suited his style pretty well, but a split-dyed hair look is always a hit or miss.

For him to make it look this good, though, definitely proved to you that it’s a hit—a rare one. Even so, you were just glad you managed to save yourself from embarrassment, playing off the fact that you literally just complimented a stranger.

But with the way you’ve been thinking of him ever since you first touched each other’s hands by accident at the bookstore, was he really still a mere stranger to you at this point?

He found himself smiling at your comment, fiddling with the rings on his fingers like how you were doing with your sweater just a while ago. “Thanks, I definitely needed to hear that.” With his response, you looked at him in confusion, subtly asking for context. He was quick to catch on, bracing himself for a little bit of a story time.

“My roommates have been flaming me ever since I came home with the red dye all gone, asking me if my hairstylist ran out of bleach in the middle of the process. They’ve been teasing me about how my scalp is probably begging to be freed by the shackles of my stylist at this point, too.” You then ended up thinking about it as well. Just how many times has this man changed his hair color by now?

“Wanna take a guess?” You didn’t need further explanation from him in order to know what he was talking about, as you’ve already been pondering about it anyway.

“I’ll say… five times, maybe?” If the correct answer was to go way past that, you think you’ll end up having the same thoughts as his roommates by the end of the day. “I hate to be the bearer of the bad news, but the answer’s very far from that.” Oh.

Seeing the flabbergasted expression on your face, he laughed loudly, and only then were your suspicions about the librarian no longer being around confirmed. If she was, he’d be thrown out the window by now. “Surprising, isn’t it? I don’t know how my scalp is still holding out well until now, either.” He shrugged, and about a couple of seconds after, you ended up joining him on his fit of laughter as well.

“I gotta say, though, that’s really impressive. Anyone else would be bald by now,” you said, making him laugh once more with how you voiced out your thoughts in such a serious tone. His laughter died down after a little while, eyes now staring right into yours. “What brings you here, though?” He finally brought it up, making you wordlessly point to the closed book in front of where he sat by the table.

“Take a guess. It’s not any different from last time,” you said, and he was quick to piece your words together. “Your roommate?” You nodded, mimicking his actions as you rested your chin on your hands like how he did earlier.

Right now, he was lazily slouched on the chair, one arm of his placed on the table as the other was resting on his thigh. He seemed to be comfortable. Only then did you manage to look at him completely from head to toe.

The contrast between your choices of clothing remained the same as ever, so you weren’t really surprised at this point. For you, beneath your white knitted sweater was a pink lace camisole top, paired with a short, pink frilly skirt. Along with your pink doll shoes—one that was different from what you wore when you went to the bookstore a while ago, was a pair of knee-length lace socks with pink ribbons resting atop its garter. And lastly, for your hairstyle, you decided to go for a simpler look today, with half of it tied up and adorned with a large pink ribbon hair clip.

For him, you noticed he looked simpler than how he’d usually style himself. But then again, you’ve only ever seen him twice before today, so you were not one to talk. He wore an oversized black shirt with a simple red graphic design in front, and it was tucked in his black denim cargo jeans that were held up by an equally simple black belt, partnered up with glossy black boots that were shining every time he’d move his feet around due to the lights by the roof of the library reflecting on its shiny surface. He was only wearing one necklace today, but as always, his hands were clad in multiple accessories. A cap, which you assumed he was probably wearing earlier before you found him, remained sat on his lap. When he ran his right hand through his hair, the sleeve of his oversized shirt went down a little, giving you the chance to catch a glimpse of his tattoo that says, “NO 1 LIKE ME.”

Once again, you failed to see the corners of his lips twitching upward when he noticed your eyes raking over his form, eyes twinkling in amusement. You’ve only seen each other thrice, but for each time that you did, something that would never overlook his attention was the way you’d always examine his clothing. It was cute, though. And it’s not like he doesn’t do the exact same thing every time as well, anyway.

His smirk disappeared as quick as the speed of light the moment your eyes met his, making you avert your gaze immediately. It’s not like you were uncomfortable, but rather because his eyes just hold such an intense aura within them that never fails to make you feel intimidated—in a good way, you assume.

“You know,” you began to speak, although still refusing to meet his eyes, “I still don’t know what your name is, and we’ve crossed paths three times already…” Due to the lack of a response from him, you were quick to assume you were probably overstepping a few lines.

What if he doesn’t really want your connection with each other to go way past two people who coincidentally see each other in the most random circumstances and places? What if he liked things better this way—you not knowing his name, and him not knowing yours?

But your thoughts dissolved into nothingness the moment he finally spoke up, his voice a little softer than you could recall as he says, “Kim Hongjoong.” Of course his name is just as beautiful as he is. Were you really surprised at this point?

“Kim Hongjoong,” you let his name roll off your tongue, and something you failed to notice yet again due to how you were still refusing to face him was the way his breath hitched—again. “What about you?”

He was quick to come up with a question to ask in order to keep his composure, head tilting ever so slightly, secretly anticipating for you to turn your head towards him again. And it seems luck chose to be on his side today, with the way you did exactly what he wished for you to.

“Me?” You asked, and he nodded. “Yeah, you.” You were hesitant at first—once you and Hongjoong finally exchange your names with each other, there’s no guarantee of which direction your affiliation with him would lead to.

Sure, you may have been overanalyzing things a little—maybe he’s just asking for your name with the hopes of being friends, but even so, you couldn’t help but wonder where you were both headed, because even if you were only a potential friend to him, he certainly wasn’t one for you.

You knew the risks of dating way before you even first entered college two years ago. If anyone were to wish for a relationship, the best periods of time to do so would either be in high school or adulthood. High school’s for the cheesy moments, the sneakily exchanged glances during class, the chasing each other by the fields, the heartfelt confessions during prom night. You’d break up with each other over something childish yet would be serious if you were to be at the age of a high school student, and you’d forget all about it the moment you step into your college life.

Getting into a relationship once you have grown into an adult would be the best option out of all, because as we grow older, we learn more things about life each day. Relationships during high school are ruined pretty easily usually because of how both parties aren’t emotionally mature enough to handle conflicts, and such an occurrence can be easily avoided if you’re both functioning adults with a better perspective on most things in life. It’d certainly be more mature compared to the aforementioned.

But relationships during college aren’t exactly the brightest of all. College students are around the ages where all you’d ever want is to mess around and have fun no matter the cost knowing you’ll barely ever get the chance to do so once you step into adulthood. So, with that being said, relationships being taken seriously by college students isn’t really a common occurrence. They live to fuck around and find out, and that’s all that’s there to it. You’ve seen girls getting their hearts shattered left and right by stupid men who seem to only think with their hormones, and you know how bad it gets.

From struggling to balance their studies and relationships to completely losing focus on their goals because apparently a conventionally attractive yet emotionally unintelligent man is worth crying over more than great examination results were, all you know about college relationships is that it either plays out surprisingly well and lasts long, or it could initiate the beginning of your downfall for years on end. You swore you’d never try it out, afraid to end up being part of the latter.

But as hard as relationships during college seem, resisting your undeniable attraction towards the man sitting in front of you also proved to be just as difficult with the way all you could think about at the very moment was how those soft hands of his clicking on the table while patiently awaiting your response would feel against your skin. It wasn’t much of a surprise for you, anyway—you knew you were doomed the moment your eyes first met his in an empty aisle and you ended up staring at him longer than you should’ve.

You knew there was no point in considering the pros and cons of deepening your connection with someone who wasn’t meant to play a role of just a friend and nothing more in your life—and might I add, someone you’re heavily crushing on yet would rather jump off a cliff than admit it to yourself and accept the terms, knowing even if he asked for your name that day at the park or that one time in the bookstore, you would’ve given him what he wanted with zero hesitation anyway.

And so you do.

He proceeded to mirror your actions from earlier, rolling your name out of his tongue—and you swear your name hasn’t sounded so beautiful until now. “That’s a beautiful name you’ve got,” he starts, and when you finally gained enough courage to turn your head to the side and meet his eyes, you were met with that toothy grin of his you didn’t seem to be able to get enough of, “it suits you pretty well.”

“Oh, I—” You weren’t sure whether to be thankful for your friend for saving you from embarrassing yourself over not knowing how to react to Hongjoong’s unprovoked compliment, or to completely loathe her for cutting in between your conversation with him once again.

You’ve been getting deja vu over the parallels between everything that’s been happening right now that has already happened before although under a different situation way too often it’s actually starting to make your head hurt.

The loud ringing of your phone echoed around the empty library, and once again, you found yourself contemplating between pressing the green button or the red one. But not this time, no. You figured she’s probably calling to ask you whether you’ve borrowed the old book from the library yet, and that’s a question you were capable of answering either through text or personally, so you clicked on the red button, hearing Hongjoong let out a confused hum. “Why’d you decline?”

Because I’m feeling selfish right now and couldn’t care less about my roommate and her linguistics crush, especially not when you’re sitting right in front of me looking so breathtakingly beautiful like you’re an angel from an art museum that came to life and escaped to taste the wonders of life, was what was begging to escape from the pit of your mouth, “It’s probably about the book, so I’ll just talk to her in person later,” was all that came out.

And with the way he looked at you as if he was waiting for you to say something else, you knew he knew of your thoughts. Thankfully, he was kind enough not to bring it up. Or he probably didn’t notice at all. Truth be told, you’re hoping the latter was the case.

“What’s up with your roommate and books, anyway?” He asked curiously, although you could tell there was a hint of playfulness with the way he spoke. “You mean what’s up with her crush from her linguistics class and books?” You shrugged, holding back your laughter when you noticed his eyebrows shoot upward ever so slightly with his mouth agape.

“Oh. So that’s what it’s about, huh?” You let out an exasperated sigh, faking a frustrated expression as you responded, “Unfortunately so.”

Classes had already ended a few minutes ago, but students were still allowed to stay in the library afterwards—at first, you thought the implemented policy was stupid at first, seeing how literally no one ever visits the library, but now, you find yourself being grateful for it.

You both sat beside each other as silence surrounded both of you, but it wasn’t the kind of silence that would drive you on the edge and make you hurriedly think of what you should do or say in order to dissipate the looming tension, no. The silence between you and Hongjoong was comfortable. He wasn’t demanding you to speak, and neither were you. But just as the silence was starting to grow deeper, you were drowning in an ocean of your own thoughts again—specifically, thoughts about Hongjoong.

You weren’t sure when it happened or if you were the one who moved or if it was him, but the distance between both of you was now smaller than how it was a few minutes ago—you were sitting so close beside each other you’d occasionally feel the fabric of his jeans brush against your thigh whenever either of you would move. Since he was now closer, the scent of his cedarwood perfume engulfed you completely. You thought it made perfect sense for someone like him to favor such a scent—it suits him pretty well.

Every now and then, you’d steal a few glances from your peripheral vision while he remains engrossed in his phone, chewing the inside of your cheek whenever you’d find yourself wondering what it would feel like to rest your head on those shoulders of his. You were wondering what it feels like to rest your head on those shoulders of his?

And since you’re way too focused on not making yourself too obvious, you, as usual, fail to notice him doing the exact same thing as well. He was scrolling on his phone, sure, but in reality, he wasn’t even reading any of the posts that were appearing on his feed, way too focused on the way your eyelashes would flutter so beautifully whenever you’d blink.

The awkward smile you gave him when you first met each other in the bookstore is an image he had taken a mental photograph of, the memory still lingering in the back of his head clearly. The first thing he noticed about you that day was the way almost all of the pieces of clothing you wore were adorned in ribbons, as it reminded him of himself, in a way.

But instead of ribbons, anyone could find more than a handful of silver chains attached to almost everything in his closet. You seemed to love wearing knitted sweaters and cardigans, much like how half of his wardrobe consisted of leather jackets in varying designs and colors, though most of them were black, just like how most of yours were pink. It’s amusing to him how you two were so similar yet so different all the same.

The day he went to the park with Wooyoung, Seonghwa, and Wooyoung’s little brother, Kyungmin, he wasn’t really any different from you. You’d never know of it much like the other way around, but even when he went to the park with the same purpose you had, he couldn’t get you off his mind. It was as if his mind was the shore, and you were the waves of the ocean constantly pushing forward after being pulled away by the tides.

So, when he came back to where Seonghwa and Wooyoung were after separating himself from them for a while to look for less crowded areas of the park they could go to, to say he was surprised to see you talking to Kyungmin would be nothing short of a huge understatement.

“What’s Kyungmin doing over there?” he asked Seonghwa and Wooyoung, to which one only laughed at while the other sighed. “He kept on insisting that the girl he’s talking to right now is a princess and wouldn’t let me hear the end of it when I told him she isn’t. Then he ran off, and the next thing we both knew was he’s already tugging on her dress.” Hongjoong’s gaze went back to you, who was now crouching to face Kyungmin eye to eye.

It wasn’t exactly like he could blame the little boy for thinking that way—you did look like a princess, especially with the beautiful dress you chose to wore that day, and not to mention, the natural look of your face he was sure people under the influence—and even those who aren’t—would mistaken as one that belongs to an angel gracing the Earth with her presence.

He couldn’t believe his very own eyes that day. When he left you by yourself when you had to answer a phone call in the bookstore, he was originally supposed to head back to the aisle you were at after checking out the other sections that seemed interesting enough to grab his attention, but just as he was about to, another one of his friends (a.k.a roommates) along with Seonghwa and Wooyoung, Mingi, messaged him, telling him to come home as soon as possible because Yunho burnt the kitchen while trying to remake a recipe he saw on his feed.

At first, he thought they were just messing around with him—a normal occurrence, at this point, but it wasn’t until Yeosang sent a video of the kitchen actually burning to their group chat. Hongjoong could no longer afford to go through all the five stages of grief looking for an apartment that would suffice for eight people, so he immediately left the bookstore and ran faster than the speed of light.

Just as he was about to cross the street the moment the lights for vehicles turned red, he started contemplating between quickly heading back to the bookstore just to bid you farewell or just heading straight to his apartment building. His phone vibrated once again, and his lockscreen was being flooded by notifications of his roommates spamming his DMs, most of them coming from Jongho and San. Only then did the answer become clear to him.

Fortunately, he was able to fix the fifth problem his roommates have created for the week on time, immediately proceeding to scold all of them, save for Seonghwa who just got home from buying groceries and was now cleaning up the kitchen. For a fleeting moment, his mind drifts back to you, making him scold the six men even more than he should’ve, not-so-slightly upset over the fact that they timed burning the kitchen perfectly right when Hongjoong was just about to head back to you and continue your conversation.

Later that night, they were messaging one another one by one privately, each of them all saying the same thing: “It wasn’t really that deep. What got him so riled up?” But not even Hongjoong himself knew the answer to the question he never knew they were thinking of.

He thought he wasn’t going to see you again, and it never failed to make him feel confused whenever he found himself being a little too disappointed over it. So, when he saw you again—talking to his friend’s little brother, if anything, he was at a loss for both words and thoughts. The moment Kyungmin pointed to where he, Wooyoung, and Seonghwa stood, your eyes met for a fleeting second, and with the way he saw your eyes widen ever so slightly, he felt a little too happy over you recognizing him, so he did the first thing he thought of—trying to look as unbothered as possible even though his heart was literally spinning around, begging to be freed.

He failed to realize how smiling at you would’ve been a better option until he saw the way the corners of your lips went downwards ever so slightly upon seeing the look on his face, and before he could even clear things up by waving at you or literally anything to make sure you know he knows you, your gaze was already back on Kyungmin, and by the looks of it, you didn’t seem like you wanted to look his way yet again. To be fair, neither would he.

And as usual, he still couldn’t get you off his mind that day—though this time, it was worse, especially with the realization over the fact that he could’ve walked up to you yet didn’t dawning over him. He was beyond frustrated, to say the least. So, so frustrated he couldn’t even sleep.

Figuring his emotions were way too all over the place for him to be able to fall into a deep slumber, he sat up with a groan, stumbling over with his steps as he went to the living room, finding Yunho sitting by himself on the couch while watching a film that seemed to be a coming of age romance movie.

“What are you all up and about for?” Hongjoong walked around the couch, sitting beside Yunho as the cushion underneath him sank. “I could ask you the same question, you know,” Yunho responded, not even sparing Hongjoong a glance, obviously way too focused on the movie playing on the television screen in front of him.

“Just frustrated over some things.” Hongjoong leaned against the couch, sighing as he initiated a staring contest with the ceiling. With this, Yunho was quick to reach for the remote, pausing the movie before shuffling around so he could face Hongjoong while sitting down. “What’s the matter?”

“Do you ever think about something so often it starts to make you feel frustrated?” His question had Yunho pondering for about a while, making him think about it thoroughly.

“Depends on what this “something” we’re talking about is. I’m pretty sure that would mean two different things, depending on whether it’s “something” or “someone,” so which one of the two is it?” Hongjoong was hoping Yunho wouldn’t bring it up, but oh well. If he’s screwed, then he’s screwed.

All he had to do was stare right into Yunho’s eyes, hoping he’d put two and two together—and luckily, he did. “Since when?” Yunho was surprised, given how Hongjoong isn’t exactly the type of person who’d let himself be bothered by such things. Still, he wanted Hongjoong to tell him all about it, thankful he trusts him enough to do so.

“I don’t know, honestly. We just met by coincidence in the bookstore a few blocks away about a few weeks ago, and I haven’t been able to go through a single day without my head being filled with thousands of thoughts ever since then.”

“By coincidence?” Yunho tilted his head, and Hongjoong was quick to rewind and tell him all about it. After Hongjoong was done telling him about how it started and how it’s going so far, Yunho found himself smiling, already knowing what was up with Hongjoong, while he himself was still left in the dark.

He resorted to convincing Hongjoong to get up and do all the work himself so he’d be the one to come to terms about his feelings first-hand. “You know, nothing’s gonna happen if you keep on refusing to make a move. You can’t just expect your paths to cross once again if you’ve been staying at the same spot for days on end.”

And that was when he messaged Wooyoung privately once he was back in his room, asking if he was free to hang out for the upcoming day and if he wouldn’t mind tagging Kyungmin along with him. You’ll never know he was the reason behind Kyungmin’s second visit to the park, and part of him thinks things will be better off that way.

However, both of you were going through your own predicaments unconsciously. Until now, you still don’t know why you’re thinking of resting your head on his shoulder, and in his case, he still doesn’t know why on Earth he actually debated between bidding you farewell or saving his apartment from its impending doom.

It didn’t help how you weren’t really one to open up to people, so you were left all alone trying to fix the tangled wires inside your head, unlike Hongjoong, who was blessed enough by the gods to have a friend like Yunho. Still, despite being provided moral support and advice, he wasn’t any less oblivious to his feelings than you were.

“What’s it like?” You asked all of a sudden, surprising both Hongjoong and yourself. Much to your surprise, though, Hongjoong let the blooming conversation flow freely as he said in response, “What do you mean?” You shrugged, fiddling with yet another loose stitch of your sweater—you figured you’d definitely have to fix it up once you get home later.

“You know… having a lot of roommates.” You weren’t sure why you were asking about his roommates when you could’ve asked a question about him instead, yet you were blissfully unaware of the fact that Hongjoong was more than happy to hear you ask about his roommates—his best friends.

“It’s fun on most days, yet it’s also very frustrating sometimes. Living with seven people doesn’t exactly sound like the best experience when you’re living in an apartment that can barely fit all of you—even more when more than half of us have proven themselves deserving to be banned from the kitchen.” You laughed at his words, his laughter soon following after, watching you attempting to wind down your voice with a toothy grin on his face. “Why’s that?” You managed to ask in between your stifled laughs.

“Remember when we first met?” How could you ever forget? “Yeah, what about it?” You tilted your head, wondering what your first encounter had to do with Hongjoong’s roommates burning their kitchen. “While you were on a phone call with someone, I was in the middle of checking out the other sections, but just as I was about to head back to where you were, they spammed our group chat with messages, each of them telling me to head back home as soon as possible. Wanna guess why?”

“Please don’t tell me someone actually set the kitchen on fire.” Hongjoong only laughed in response, shaking his head. “Unfortunately.” Your eyes widened slightly, scoffing in disbelief. “You’re lying, aren’t you?” This time, it was now Hongjoong’s turn to look at you in utter disbelief, making you think he was actually offended over you not believing his story for a split second.

“Don’t wanna believe me? Here,” he said, showing you the video waiting to be played on his phone screen as he gestured for you to press the button yourself. As the video started playing, a look of shock spread all over your face as you watched the fire get worse as the video progressed, hearing screams from people whom you could only assume were his roommates.

Someone draped a towel over the flames, hurriedly stepping back when his solution turned out to be an additional problem with the way the fire grew even more. “Mingi, are you fucking stupid?! Take that towel back!” to which the man named Mingi responded with, “No way in hell! San, you do it!” followed by another, “Don’t drag me into the consequences of your stupidity!”

You heard someone from the background yell Hongjoong’s name, and as the camera was turned towards where the sound came from, you were met with the sight of a man who you recognized as Wooyoung hiding behind someone who seemed to be way too calm considering the fact that the kitchen was literally being set on fire—he was even eating an apple, if anything. The video switched to the front camera, revealing a man who, this time, seemed to look too happy despite the fire unfolding right behind him, and he even had the guts to giggle and wave to the camera.

Needless to say, you were left speechless, and the video wasn’t even halfway finished yet. You pressed his screen to pause the video, being met with the sight of him contemplating whether to laugh over the memorable (strangely enough) moment or to let his grudges come crawling back at him.

Looking at the expression on his face, you couldn’t help but laugh, your voice echoing around the quiet halls of the library. “So that’s what living with seven people looks like…” With the way you spoke, Hongjoong was unsure whether you meant it in a good way or not—and if he were to be honest, that’s exactly what made your reaction even more amusing.

“That’s also why I wasn’t able to come back to the aisle after looking around. Sorry,” he apologized, sheepishly rubbing his nape. You were quicker than a millisecond to dismiss his apology, shaking your head as you reassured him that it’s fine and a while has passed ever since that day anyway so you don’t really mind anymore. You had that awkward smile on your face again, and Hongjoong had to put every fiber in him to use in order to hold himself back from just melting right there and then.

Suddenly, your phone rang yet again, cutting your conversation with Hongjoong short. Assuming it was your roommate calling you, you were about to decline the call, but it wasn’t until you read the contact number’s nickname and realized it was your mother calling you and not your roommate.

You were quick to tidy yourself and hung your pink crocheted crossbody bag over your shoulder, reaching for the book that was resting in front of Hongjoong by the table, retracting your hand for a split second when you realized you hadn’t even told him yet that the book your roommate wanted you to borrow from the library was the one he was reading before you approached him.

He looked up at you from his seat, tilting his head. “You need it?” he asked, making you nod. “If you don’t mind, of course, it’s just—” Hongjoong waved you off, gesturing for you to take it, swearing he doesn’t mind at all. Just as you reached for the book once more, his hand rested on its cover at the same time, pushing it towards your direction. It didn’t take you longer than a second to realize your hands were on top of his. Your phone has stopped ringing, and the sound has now been replaced with your thundering heartbeat.

You were the first one to break the contact, taking your hand off his. Too focused on trying to look calm—you have no idea why having composure seems to turn itself into an almost unattainable challenge whenever Hongjoong was around—you fail to notice the way a hint of disappointment flashed on his eyes with you taking your hand off so soon, and it disappeared as quick as it showed up when you reached for the book once more the moment his hand was no longer sitting atop of it.

“I, um, have to go,” you stumbled over your words as you shoved the book inside your bag, “I’ll… see you around?” You sounded way too hopeful for your liking, but before you could take your words back and replace it with something more neutral, Hongjoong beat you to it by grinning at you widely, nodding at your words. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll see you around.”

But he doesn’t, and neither do you.

Three weeks have passed, and the increasing amount of his library visits were starting to become more noticeable to the seven men Hongjoong shared his apartment with through every passing day. They all went to the same university, so they knew just how annoyingly cruel the campus librarian was, which made things even harder to piece together for them. Hongjoong had also spoken up once about how much he hates the librarian during one of their drinking games when he was under the influence, so his frequent visits at the library were really confusing—save for one person who had an idea what the reason behind it was.

“You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you?” Mingi tilted his head at San who sat across from him, enthusiastically munching on the desserts he ordered while taking a few sips of his coffee in between—clearly, he didn’t hear Mingi’s question. “You’ve noticed it, right?” Mingi repeated his question, this time a little louder in hopes of getting an answer from San. His attempt proved to be successful as San finally looked up at him with a confused expression on his face. “Noticed what?”

“Oh, you know. Hongjoong and his sudden library star user transition,” he shrugged, and San let out a hum of realization after being given context. “Yeah, I have. What about it, though?” Mingi scoffed in disbelief, having a hunch that San was just playing dumb. “Come on, San. Don’t you think it’s strange? Because I do.” But the aforementioned man’s eyebrows only furrowed as he asked once again, “What is?”

“What isn’t strange about it? You know he hates the librarian just as much as we all do, right? Don’t you ever wonder what on Earth is he stopping by the library everyday for?” For a few seconds, the only thing San could do was stare at Mingi from across the table, mouth slightly agape as if he was trying to connect the dots inside his head. And then it clicks—finally. “Oh… Oh. I mean, now that you’ve mentioned it, it does seem a little weird.”

“Right? I asked Seonghwa last night if he knew anything about it, but he told me Hongjoong hasn’t brought up anything related to the library to him so far. I mean, sure, yeah, Hongjoong likes to read, so normally, it would make sense for him to visit the library every now and then—but everyday? Is he reading a compilation of the terms and conditions of every existing app?”

“You may be overanalyzing a little, don’t you think?” A familiar voice spoke up from behind San’s seat at the cafe, making him turn his head around as Mingi only had a smile on his face, already having seen the man enter the cafe before he even approached the two of them. “You know you can visit the library for more than one reason, right?” He gestured for San to move aside, opting to sit beside him as both of them were now facing Mingi, who sat on the opposite side of the table.

“And what would those other reasons be?” Both Mingi and San asked in unison. “I don’t know, maybe the usual things that happen when you’re a college student on the brink of graduation with an eye for attractive people?” Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Yunho, what the hell are you even talking about right now?”

Yunho rolled his eyes, leaning against the cushion of the sofa he sat on. “Think it through, Mingi. Hongjoong wouldn’t even dare to consider visiting the library everyday, had he not been developing feelings for a certain person he often sees there.” Both Mingi and San knew Hongjoong as someone who wasn’t quite fond of the idea of anything romantic, but it’s not like they knew what Yunho knew, anyway, so they resorted to laughing Yunho’s words off.

“You’re not onto something, Yunho,” Mingi began, and San continued his words, saying, “you’re on something.”

“Are you seriously accusing me of being high on a Saturday afternoon? Being high, if anything?” Yunho stared at the two men who were now proudly laughing over their joke in disbelief, frowning when he realized they didn’t even plan on taking his words with a grain of salt. “And are you seriously trying to get us to consider your idea of Hongjoong being hit by Cupid all of a sudden?”

“It’s not an idea, San. Just—would you just listen to at least a goddamn word I’ll be saying?” Yunho ran his hand through his hair, and only then did Mingi and San stop with their antics. Moments of Yunho being upset were extremely uncommon, and whenever it would happen, all of them would always fail to hear the end of it. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry. Where did your theory come from, anyway?”

“For the second time now, it’s not a theory. It’s a possibility loosely based on a conversation Hongjoong and I had a few weeks ago while you were all asleep.”

“So… a theory?”

“God, no!”

“It is, though.” San backed up Mingi, making him pat his back with a grateful expression on his face. “See? He gets me.” Yunho only responded by rolling his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. “It doesn’t matter whether it’s a theory or not—just hear me out, please.” San could tell Yunho was growing tired of their shenanigans, so he was quick to lock in and get serious. “Shoot.”

“It was around three in the morning already, and I was in the living room watching a movie. Hongjoong suddenly came out of his room and sat beside me, and he asked me a question I wouldn’t have expected to come from him. He asked me if I’ve ever thought of something so often to the point where it drives me frustrated, and based on the look on his face that night, I assumed his answer would’ve been yes if I asked him the question instead and not the other way around. I told him it depends on whether it’s a “something” or a “someone,” and he gave me a look that non-verbally told me it was the latter in his case.”

“So, to sum it all up, he likes someone who visits the library often?” Mingi asked, and Yunho shook his head. “From the looks of it, I’m pretty sure he’s waiting for a certain someone to visit the library everyday.”

“Why the library, though? And why would he have to do it everyday? Doesn’t that sound a little creepy? Or maybe that’s just me, but, I mean, there’s no way you don’t find it weird at all, Yunho,” San said, wondering why on Earth would Hongjoong have to visit the library everyday just to see whoever his crush was.

Yunho sighed, “That’s not exactly the case, you know.” Both Mingi and San’s attention were completely hooked once again, both of them leaning forward on the sides of the table they sat on, eager to listen to what Yunho was about to tell them.

“What I’m thinking is that Hongjoong probably last saw his crush in the library, and that whoever that person is went out of town—but Hongjoong doesn’t know, hence why he keeps on visiting the library everyday in hopes of seeing his crush again.”

“That’s… oddly specific,” Mingi gave Yunho a skeptical gaze, whereas San remained drowning in his own thoughts. “The fact that your theory is actually highly likely to be correct is what scares me,” San said, finally speaking up after a few seconds of silence.

“It’s not a—”

“Yeah, yeah, not a theory! We get it!”

It’s been three months, at most. You wanted nothing more but to leave your hometown and head back to your apartment—you never liked the suffocating feeling the walls of your mother’s household would always give you. You’re starting to miss hearing your roommate’s loud snoring in the brink of dawn, too. You wonder how she’s holding up—it’s not really your thing to keep in touch with people while you’re away as it only makes you miss them even more, and this is something you fortunately remembered at the last minute to tell her before you left.

Your mother had contacted you that time you were hanging out with Hongjoong in the library to tell you to head back to your household as she and her garbage of a boyfriend had scheduled a three month vacation for themselves, leaving you the responsibility to watch over their house while they go out and enjoy their lives to its fullest. How pathetic.

You vividly remember feeling your heart ache with flames while you had to fight back your tears while packing your things—trying so hard to convince your roommate—who you assumed by that time was probably hanging out with the guy from her linguistics class—that you were fine when she was on the other line of the call while you were informing her about your sudden vacation, even though it was painfully obvious you weren’t by the way your voice kept on trembling with every word you spoke.

It didn’t help that all you could think of while spacing out while waiting for the train you took to arrive at its destination was the way Hongjoong’s eyes widened ever so slightly when you placed your hands atop of his by accident, as well as the way he’d flash you that toothy grin of his every single time you’d find yourselves staring into each other’s eyes.

No, it really didn’t help. Especially considering the fact that you don’t even know why the hell you were thinking of him when you were supposed to be upset because of your parents. It really, really didn’t help how thinking of him ended up painting a small smile on your face that was quick to disappear the moment you snapped back into reality.

Yet here you are now, mindlessly staring outside the window of your childhood bedroom, watching the sun slowly fall into a deep slumber as you wonder what Hongjoong could have possibly been doing by the other side of the world. Part of you regrets not taking the old book you borrowed from the library with you, but at the end of the day, you borrowed it to help your roommate forge a connection with her crush, and not with your own, for heaven’s sake. Wait, what?

And then it hits you—he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know you’re out of town and will continue to be for three more days. You wonder if he thinks of you as much as you do of him. You wonder if he’s out there, waiting for you. You wonder if he wonders what you’re doing right now as well. You wonder if he’s concerned about you.

“Oh, God, I can’t do this anymore,” you buried your face in your hands in frustration, sighing heavily as you parted your fingers to glance at your phone placed by your bedside table. Its screen, although pitch black, felt as if it was glaring directly at you, taunting you to take it and just say “screw it” and break your no-contact-during-vacation rule.

And you did, in fact, say, “Screw it.”

Quickly scrolling through your contacts, you wasted no time and immediately dialed your roommate’s number, the constant ringing of your phone echoing around the almost empty surroundings of your bedroom. Most of the things you left here before moving out have already been thrown out, it seems.

“Oh my God!” The screeching of your roommate from the other end of the line made you jolt in surprise, hissing as you felt your ears ring due to how loud her voice was. “Is this real?! I thought you said you wouldn’t call me until you’re back here! What happened?! Is something wrong?! Are you okay?! ARE YOU—”

“Calm down! Do you want me to go deaf or something?” Your voice was as calm as ever, a stark contrast to hers. “Did you really miss me that bad?” Chuckling, you await her response, which arrived faster than a millisecond.

“Did I miss you? Did I miss you? You have no idea how quiet it has been in here ever since you left! I have no one to annoy and it’s slowly driving me insane…” she let out an exasperated sigh, making you laugh. “I’ll be taking that as a yes, then.”

Your roommate clears her throat, going back to the topic at hand. “Seriously, though, why’d you suddenly decide to break your no-contact rule? Are you alright?” Concern was evident in her voice, and it almost made you tear up. You failed to realize just how much you missed her until now.

“I’m still breathing, that’s for sure,” you joked, laughing after hearing her groan as she said, “Now’s not the time for your jokes! Did something bad happen over there?”

“No, not really, but… well, you know, I’m not supposed to come back until Friday this week, but I really don’t think I can stay here for any longer. I’m all alone because my mother and her boyfriend are out on a vacation, and I haven’t had anyone to talk to for the past few months I’m not used to waking up because of my alarm and not because of your loud snoring, you know?”

Truthfully, you really did miss her. But even if you knew she was not the only reason behind you desperately wanting to leave your hometown, you figured you’d have to tell her all about it another time—just not now.

“I can’t tell whether you meant that as a compliment or an insult…” she sighed, making you erupt in a fit of laughter. Darkness was now starting to consume your surroundings, with the moon all up and about. Your bedside lamp is now the only source of light your bedroom has. “Do me a favor and take it as both?”

“Haha, yeah, real funny. I really hate you, you know.” You could tell from the tone of her voice alone that she was rolling her eyes, making you laugh once more—she seriously had to stop, or else you were certain you were gonna have to go to sleep with an aching stomach. “I don’t think you do, though…”

“You know me too well,” she sighed, faking an exhausted tone. “Is there anything you wanna tell me about? Like, you know, literally anything? I feel like all we’ve ever been talking about lately is mister linguistics class who is my man but is technically not my man but will, one day, become my man… come to think of it, I don’t think you’ve ever talked to me about any of your crushes—”

You could still hear her voice through the speaker of your phone, but the moment her words entered your ears, they were all muffled—you were, once again, adrift in a sea of your own thoughts. In a way, she was right about the part where you never talk to her about anything regarding your romantic affiliations—but that’s precisely because you don’t even have one in the first place, and you swore to yourself you’d keep things that way until you graduate.

But right now, as your thoughts drift back to Hongjoong yet again—something that seems to have been happening way too often for your liking at this point, you weren’t so sure anymore.

“—Oh, you do like someone!” Beaming happily, she squealed like a little child winning a plushie from a claw machine for the first time, pulling you back up to the surface of reality. Surprised, you stumbled over your words, “W-What?”

“You suddenly grew quiet when I started talking about relationships, you know.” I did?

“If I were to guess, I’d say there’s a certain someone who came to your mind the moment I mentioned the word “crush” and brought up how you’ve always been so secretive with your dating life.” You could visualize the teasing smile on her face as she spoke, and it made you feel flustered. She was right, but were you really going to tell her that?

“So, who is it? Can I make a few guesses? Promise me you’ll bring a basket of candies home for me if I get it right!” It wasn’t exactly like you were doubting her—it was more on the fact that you, yourself, weren’t even sure if you actually harbor feelings for the only person in your mind right now. If you were to think about it, wouldn’t it be too soon to say you do?

Maybe it was the way he seemed to have an eye meant for seeing everything around him as diamonds in the rough—an eye able to see the best even in those already proven to be the worst. Maybe it was the way he has no fear of expressing himself freely—maybe you just admired that trait of his and wished to have it as your own. Maybe it was the way he’s always eager to thoroughly get to know the details of everything he crosses paths with—the way he reread a book five times just to look for the foreshadowed parts may sound a little silly to be used as an example, but it serves its purpose.

You don’t really know much about him, except for the fact that he lives with seven people whom you could tell he adored so much, and that he liked to design his own clothes. So for a split second, you begin to debate whether you do like him or if you just admire him as a person.

But it wasn’t until you were reminded of the way you felt sparks ignite all over your veins when his fingers first brushed past yours that day in the bookstore, the way you stared at him a little longer than you should’ve when you saw him at the park, the way you had to hold yourself back from unconsciously leaning your head on his shoulder that day in the library—maybe the way you felt about Hongjoong was a whole book itself, and you’d also have to reread it a few times to catch everything you’ve overlooked in the long run.

You may not know him at all, but right now, one thing was crystal clear to you—you wanted to.

“Do you know the…” A little uncertain at first, you trailed off, not knowing whether you should continue or not. But then again, running away wouldn’t draw you any closer to your destination. “... Do you know anyone named Kim Hongjoong?”

Silence engulfed both of you for at least ten seconds at most, until it was broken by yet another squeal of hers. “Are you for real?! The Kim Hongjoong?! You like him?! Oh my God! Wait, now that I’m thinking about it, aren’t you two, like, polar opposites, at most?”

If only she knew.

“I guess…? Why?” You decided to play along with her for now, eager to hear what she has to say. “You two would totally be the cutest couple of the whole campus! I mean, come on, think about it! He’s a punk, and you do ballet! Well, technically, you don’t, but I trust you enough to rest assured you get the reference, so…”

“You think so?” Truth be told, you could perfectly visualize the message she was trying to deliver. Subconsciously, a smile soon began to creep up on your face over the thought of you and Hongjoong walking together, the stark contrast between your styles and the way you carried yourselves being heavily obvious.

“Oh, I know so! Wait, though—when, where, why, and how did this even start? I can’t believe you’re actually telling me about your dating life now!” She beamed, but you were quick to tone her down. “Now…? I don’t even have any experience within the dating field,” you said, bracing yourself from the scream that was yet to come from her.

“I’m sorry, what?!” Yeah, called it. “You heard it right. I wasn’t hiding anything from you—there were never any secrets to be hidden to begin with.”

“So Hongjoong is your first boyfriend—” “—I think we’re skipping a few chapters here,” you immediately cut her off, turning her assumptions down as fast as you could. “What do you mean?”

“Well… remember when you asked me to buy that one psychological thriller book from our local bookstore there?” You started, continuing after hearing a hum from the other line. “That was when I first met him. He was going to buy the same book as well, but we reached for it at the same time, and, I don’t know, we kinda… talked? And…”

You continued on, starting from when you first met him to when you last saw him. At this point, you could no longer even count the amount of times she had squealed over the phone.

“Wait, so you mean to tell me you didn’t even exchange contacts before you left the library? And he doesn’t know why you left?!” You could tell she was frustrated—and to be fair, so were you. “Well, if I did, we’d be talking to each other right now, wouldn’t we?” You sighed.

“So that means it’s been three months since you… wait, hold on… three months? Like, actually?” You have no idea why she was asking for confirmation all of a sudden, yet you let out a hum of approval anyway. “So that’s why he’s been… oh my God! If you don’t come back as soon as you can, I swear!”

“Huh? Why would I need to?”

“Hongjoong’s been visiting the library everyday for three months straight now! It’s, like, one of the many things our whole campus gossips about everyday! It all makes sense now…” What?

“What?”

“I’m telling you, you need to come back before it’s too late and he loses hope!” You couldn’t help but laugh at how she seemed to be more passionate about the topic at hand than you yourself, but in a way, she also had a point. There’s no guarantee he’d continue to wait for you until you’re finally allowed to leave your mother’s household.

And that was all you needed to hear for you to immediately hang up and rummage through the clothes you packed with you for your vacation—you could hardly even call it such, but whatever. You have no idea why you’re in such a rush, but for the first time ever, you opted for a casual look: a white shirt with an oversized pink hoodie with a half-done zipper on top of it, paired with shorts that weren’t even visible due to the hoodie’s length. You quickly slipped on a pair of white socks and wore your pink converse afterwards, having to re-do the shoelaces about three times due to messing it up over and over again because of how you were in such a rush.

You didn’t even have time to stand in front of your mirror to see what you looked like—your mind was set on coming back to you and your roommate’s apartment as soon as you could.

For a minute, you were stuck in a debate between following what you had to or what you wanted to. You knew for sure that dire consequences were to wait ahead of you if you were to follow the latter, but you could no longer find it in you to care. You had to follow your heart.

Sighing under your breath, you finally got yourself to twist the doorknob open, being met with the cold breeze of the night. Perhaps it wasn’t the best decision to wear shorts, but it’s too late to reconsider things now, is it? Quickly locking the door with your keys in hand, you wasted no time in sprinting to the nearest train station, not wanting to waste the chance that laid itself upon you.

“Mind explaining what’s been going on with you lately?” Seonghwa asked, hands on either side for support as he leaned against the kitchen counter, eyes boring directly into Hongjoong, who was standing across him, too busy spacing out that Seonghwa was certain he didn’t hear anything at all.

“What?” Hongjoong’s voice was a little slurred, and one could easily tell he lacks sleep. “I said, do you mind explaining what’s been going on with you lately?” Seonghwa enunciated his words so Hongjoong could hear him better, only for the said man to respond with a chuckle.

“You really gotta stop overanalyzing everything around you, Seonghwa.” Yet the aforementioned man wasn’t having any of it. He knew very well of Hongjoong’s tendencies to deny his own struggles—even to himself, always refusing to admit he’s going through something even though it’s already crystal clear. Of course, Seonghwa and the rest knew to respect his boundaries and not pry further, but the circles under Hongjoong’s eyes were starting to grow darker, and he just couldn’t sit back and do nothing.

“I’m not buying your excuses this time, Hongjoong. Clearly, you’re forcing yourself to go through something all alone again.” Seonghwa sighed, brows furrowed in concern as he took in Hongjoong’s appearance.

“What? Like it’s the first time I’ve ever done so?” Hongjoong chuckled, although it was easy for Seonghwa to tell he was forcing it upon himself. “You know you can’t keep everything to yourself forever, right? They’re all worried about you, and so am I. Look, you don’t have to tell me all the details, okay? Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“How on Earth am I supposed to feel when someone tells me ‘see you around’ but then they proceed to literally disappear right after those words come out of their mouth? Wouldn’t you be downing a dozen shots in one streak too?” From the way Hongjoong spoke, it was clear that he was beyond frustrated. His words came out slurred and raspy, and even Seonghwa himself was surprised he understood what Hongjoong said.

Brows furrowed in confusion, Seonghwa leaned forward from the counter, clearly not knowing what the hell Hongjoong was talking about. “Woah, woah, alright, calm down. Where’d all this even come from?”

“It’s been three months—three months, Seonghwa. Disappearing without a word is one thing, but not showing up for three months is just absurd, isn’t it?” Hongjoong groaned, running his hands through his hair. Still confused, Seonghwa attempted to ask for a little more context. “Who are you even talking about?”

“Her, Seonghwa. The girl whose name I could’ve gotten sooner, had those stupid goons not decided to burn our kitchen. The girl Kyungmin mistook for a princess.”

Oh.

Oh.

So it all makes sense now. It now makes sense that Hongjoong scolded the rest of them for almost burning their apartment way too harshly than he normally would have. It now makes sense why he caught Hongjoong staring at the girl from the park longer than any other person would have. It now makes sense that—does this mean what Seonghwa thinks it does?

Hongjoong likes someone? The Hongjoong, who swore he’d never allow himself to get into a relationship yet again after a bad falling out with one of his exes a few years ago? The Hongjoong, if anything?

“Can I take a wild guess and assume she’s the reason behind your daily library visits?” Seonghwa asked carefully, not wanting to hit a wounded spot by accident. Hongjoong only sighed, “I wish she wasn’t. Really, really wish she wasn’t.”

“Why? Do you like her?”

Does he like you?

At first, Hongjoong refused to accept the terms. He knew very well of his promise to himself not to fall for anyone again, tired of experiencing the same hardships that came along with it over and over again. He knew he shouldn’t be thinking of you as often as he does. He knew he shouldn’t be letting you affect him in the simplest ways possible.

Yet here he was now.

“I tried to stop myself, you know. I really did. But I just—I couldn’t. I didn’t have it in me to forget about her just like that, even if she’s been gone for three months straight now and I don’t even know where she is.” Seonghwa could tell Hongjoong meant every word he said. It was still mildly surprising, but the words came out of his mouth so smoothly it was enough to tell Seonghwa he was really being genuine.

“I know I look stupid waiting like a dog in the library everyday, hoping I’d be met with her awkward smile when I turn my head towards the door whenever I hear it open, but I just—I can’t, you know? I can’t stop. Not when the last words we spoke to each other was about seeing each other around. I can’t help but wonder if I messed up unknowingly, somehow.”

Seonghwa’s gaze softened, stepping forward to gently caress Hongjoong’s shoulder in a comforting way. “Why not go on a midnight stroll? I think you really need one right now. I’ll make sure they won’t burn the kitchen again this time, okay?”

“You really know how to make me feel better, don’t you?” Hongjoong chuckled, looking upwards to prevent his tears from falling down. “I’m gonna need you to remember the fact that we’ve known each other since we were kids. Of course I’ll know that,” Seonghwa sarcastically said, although a smile was plastered on his face.

At this point, you were certain your legs were about to give up before you could even reach your apartment. The train you took had a major malfunction in the long run, but you didn’t have it in you to wait for 30 minutes until the train would start working again, so you did the only thing you could—run. Okay, that was most likely not the correct solution, but it wasn’t like you had any other choice. You need to head home at least before 8:30AM tomorrow, since that’s usually when your mother would call you to ask how you, or rather, her house, is doing.

You stopped between your tracks to catch your breath, hands on your knees as your chest heaved with exhaustion. You decided to walk for at least a few minutes for now so you could regain enough energy to start running again later on, knowing there was absolutely no way you’d be able to keep on sprinting without passing out in the middle of it.

You were walking on an empty road, the dim lamp posts and the convenience stores from a distance being your only sources of light. As you were peacefully admiring your quiet surroundings, you spotted a coastline from a fair distance besides the road, only about a few steps away. As you drew closer to where the waves of the ocean met the sand, you saw a figure from afar sitting on a boulder all by themselves.

Except it wasn’t just a figure.

Your heart started racing, eyes widening in surprise as you focused your gaze on the person’s hair—you couldn’t have been mistaken. You know exactly who that split-dyed hair belongs to.

Before you even knew it, your feet had a life of its own, running towards where the figure was sitting even though your legs were literally about to give up after running for half an hour without stopping.

“Hongjoong?”

He turned around almost right after you called out his name, eyes all puffy and widened in surprise, blinking repeatedly as if he was trying to process the fact that you were standing right in front of him.

“It’s you.”

You no longer even cared if your actions were way too straightforward, immediately engulfing him in a warm, tight embrace as you buried your face in the crook of his neck. “Hongjoong—I’m sorry, I just…” Your voice came out as nothing but trembling whispers blending it with the midnight breeze.

For at least a few seconds, all he did was stand still, not an ounce of his body reacting to your touch. Afraid he might not have been comfortable with what you were doing, you were quick to take a step back, removing your face from his neck.

Yet just as you were about to release the grip you held around his body, he was quick to wrap his arms around yours, this time being the one to embrace you tightly. Hongjoong’s arms envelop you, holding you tightly against him. The warmth of his body, the gentle rise and fall of his breath—it’s an entirely new feeling, yet it felt soothing all the same, as if this was where you were always meant to be.

You let yourself let loose in his embrace, feeling the tension and worry of the past three months slowly melt away. You close your eyes, savoring the moment as you bury your face in his shoulder. The subtle scent of his cedarwood cologne that you missed so much mixed with the salty sea air lingers in your senses, making you feel grounded and safe.

His chin rests on top of your head, and you can feel him take a deep breath, almost as if he’s trying to breathe you in and reassure himself that you’re really there. His embrace feels secure and protective, as though he’s shielding you from the heavy burdens of the world weighing upon you.

You notice his hesitation in the way his hands pause on your back, almost unsure of how to hold you at first. But eventually, after being allowed a little more seconds to familiarize himself with the feeling of your body resting against his, he started rubbing your back in soothing circles, making you feel lightheaded—as if all of your worries have slipped away with just a single touch.

He removes his chin from the top of your head, making you stare into his eyes with a teary gaze as he does so to yours as well. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you about it beforehand, I…” you trailed off, words getting stuck in the middle of your throat after feeling Hongjoong cup your face with his hands, “... It all happened so fast, I… my mother needed me home right away, and I just couldn’t say no to her… I wish I could’ve told you beforehand, but she only told me why she needed me home when I was already there, so I couldn’t…”

Hongjoong’s gaze softens as he listens to your words. He gives you a small, understanding nod, but you can still see the hint of hurt in his eyes—his dark circles were so visible, even under the dim light of the moon. He pauses for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts, before speaking.

"I thought I might have done something wrong," he admits quietly, vulnerability evident with the way he spoke.. "I kept wondering if you were upset with me. It was... hard not knowing what happened.”

“When you left without a word, it felt like my world shifted,” Hongjoong begins. “We were in the library, and the last thing you said was you’ll see me around—but I didn't see you again. Not the next day, or the day after. I just kept going back, hoping you’d show up. It didn’t make sense—you were there, and then you were gone.”

“I started overthinking everything, replaying our conversations in my head. I wondered if I said something wrong or came on too strong, that maybe you didn’t want me to. I was scared that I might have scared you away somehow," he admits, and the way his voice trembled ever so slightly made your heart twist in pain.

“Hongjoong, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to leave you wondering if you ever did something wrong—I didn’t like what happened just as much as you do. I just… it’s complicated…” Truth be told, it really was.

Still, Hongjoong nodded with a faint smile on his face, reassuring you that he understands.“I know it wasn’t intentional,” he said, caressing your face with his thumb. “The nights were the hardest. I’d lie awake wondering if you hated me or if I had done something to upset you.”

You reach up to caress his face with your hands as well, staring at him with eyes that hold a swirl of emotions. “God, no, it never had anything to do with you… I’m so sorry for disappearing like that," you say softly, your voice filled with a mixture of guilt and frustration. "I wish I could have told you what was happening, but my mother... she wasn’t easy to deal with.”

As you hold Hongjoong close, you sense there’s more he wants to share, but he seems to be holding back, seemingly at war with his own emotions. You give his hand a reassuring squeeze, encouraging him to express himself.

He lets out a heavy sigh, his expression a mix of longing and frustration. “I’ve been trying so hard to sort out how I feel about all of this,” he begins slowly. “I’ve been at war with my own thoughts ever since you left. Trying to keep my feelings under control, trying to convince myself it was just a worry for a friend. But it just… doesn’t add up.”

He pauses, running a hand through his hair, his gaze on a far distance. “Every day, I would tell myself I could keep it together, but I kept thinking about you so much, it was starting to drive me insane,” he admits, although a little hesitantly. “I tried to keep it down to just concern, but it wasn’t enough. My mind kept circling back to you, wondering where you were, if you were okay.”

His eyes meet yours again, making your breath hitch. “I’d go to the library every day, hoping to see you, hoping to hear your voice again. It was maddening, not knowing if you’d come back or if I’d lost you completely,” he sighs, as his grip on the skin of your waist becomes a little tighter. “I just couldn’t shake it off,” he continues, his voice quieting down.

“You were on my mind all the time, and the more I tried to ignore it, the more frustrated I became. I tried so hard to deny it, but...” he pauses, taking a deep breath, as if he’s steeling himself for what comes next.

“Oh, screw it all,” he finally mutters, as if giving in to his own feelings. “I love you, and I don’t think I can hold it back any longer.”

“You… What?” Your eyes widened in surprise, struggling to process Hongjoong’s words. Hongjoong only smiled at you in return, repeating his words, “I said I love you. I really, really do.”

“Hongjoong,” you begin softly, your voice carrying a hint of nervousness. Hearing his name slip out of your mouth sent his nerves going haywire—oh, how he missed the sound of it.

“When I had to leave so suddenly, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do. It was so difficult not being able to explain what happened or tell you how much you mean to me.” You pause, trying to find the right words.

“You know, I… I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone in until I graduated," you confess, your voice being a little softer than it already was. “So when I first started catching feelings for you, I was in complete denial. I didn’t know how to handle it.” You look away for a moment, feeling embarrassed.

“It was a war with myself, one I never expected to fight," you continued. “I told myself it was just a phase, just a fleeting crush. I even thought maybe I was imagining things or confusing friendship with something more.”

You let out a small, nervous laugh, trying to hide the depth of your feelings. “I even tried to tell myself that you were just a good friend, that I was misinterpreting my own emotions,” you admit. “But the more I tried to distance myself from my feelings, the harder it became. My heart kept betraying me, reminding me how much I looked forward to seeing you again, how your smile could light up my whole day.”

Your tone grows quieter as you share your struggle. “I kept thinking, ‘This can’t be happening. Not now. I promised myself I wouldn’t fall for anyone,’” you say, vividly remembering the battle with your own feelings you once faced. “But every time I thought of you, it became harder to deny it. My heart wouldn’t let me forget you, and it drove me insane. Eventually, I lost control, and…”

You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to face the reality of your feelings. “Now that I’m standing here with you, hearing you pour your heart out, I just… I can’t deny it anymore,” you admit. “I’ve fallen for you, Hongjoong, and I’m done pretending otherwise.”

And that was all it took for him to inch his face closer to yours, intertwining your lips with his. The kiss was nothing short of pent-up tension being released, and you could feel every part of your body being set aflame.

His hands wrap themselves around your waist, its grip on your skin tightening every now and then. Your hand traces his jawline, soon finding itself tangled in his hair while the other one balls the fabric of his shirt into your first, feeling yourself get even more lost in the moment with each passing second.

As the kiss intensifies, there’s a sense of exploration, as if both of you are savoring the taste and feel of each other’s lips for the first time. Hongjoong’s hands slide up your back, one hand finding the nape of your neck, his touch gentle yet firm as if he was using every single fiber within his body to hold himself back, sending a shiver down your spine.

You mirror his movements, one hand now resting on his shoulder while the other presses against his back, wanting to be as close as possible. The world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you lost in the moment.

As your lips finally part, you both find yourselves gazing into each other’s eyes as if both of you believe the other hung up the stars in the sky. “You know,” Hongjoong began to speak. “As grateful as I am that you’re back here with me now… I can’t help but wonder where on Earth you came from...”

“Can we please save that discussion for another time?”

🪞 — lividstar.

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ Chapter Eight: A Great Friend

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 11.5k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ Your day immediately turns eventful at the very second you open your eyes, receiving a congratulatory message from Hongjoong which was apparently because of your sudden popularity that skyrocketed overnight, following your first photoshoot. As you grapple with this sudden surge of attention, Seonghwa offers a welcome distraction by suggesting you assist Hongjoong with his designs for the upcoming autumn collection, all of which are still in progress.

a/n: apologies in advance, but it should probably be in your best interest to expect slow updates starting from now on 🥲 i’ve been getting busier and busier lately so it might take a little while to upload the following chapters ㅠㅠ lmk what you think about this chapter! reading people’s feedback cheers me up a lot, and i’d really appreciate them especially rn since i’m having a hard time haha

tags: @beabatiny

You awaken to the soft chime of a message notification, the early morning light casting a gentle glow in your room. Blinking away sleep, you reach for your phone on the bedside table, the screen glowing softly in the dim light. The message is from Hongjoong, and your heart skips a beat as you read it.

Seems like you got a good head start in the industry. Congratulations!

Confused, you sit up, rubbing your eyes and trying to make sense of his words. You quickly type back, asking him what was going on, as you had just woken up. Hongjoong’s response comes swiftly.

The pictures from your first photoshoot were uploaded last night and they’re currently going viral.

Your eyes widen in disbelief, and you hurriedly exit the conversation to check the social media platforms associated with Hongjoong’s brand. The notifications are overwhelming. As you scroll through the posts, your face appears repeatedly—each shot capturing a different angle of the Parisian venue, each pose more captivating than the last. The comments are a flurry of excitement and admiration. Each one is a testament to the impact the photos have had.

“Who is this stunning new face?”

“She looks like she stepped out of a painting!”

“Her expression is so captivating; I can’t stop looking!”

“Such a refreshing presence, she’s going to be huge!”

“She exudes this ethereal vibe—like a modern-day muse!”

If there was one thing you were expecting the moment you stepped into the industry, it was definitely not this. Well, you probably should’ve. Your hands tremble slightly as you continue scrolling, unable to fully grasp the scale of the attention. It’s surreal to see yourself through the eyes of so many strangers, each comment adding another layer to the overwhelming reality.

A hand ghosts over your mouth in shock, trying to stifle the gasp that escapes. “Is this real?” you whisper to yourself, the room around you suddenly feeling too small, too quiet compared to the roaring storm of notifications and messages on your phone.

Rushing to the bathroom, you splash cold water on your face, the chill jolting you awake. You even slap your cheeks lightly a few times, trying to dispel the surreal feeling that’s settled over you. The mirror reflects your wide-eyed expression, confirming that this is, in fact, happening. You stare at your reflection, the reality of your newfound attention slowly sinking in. It feels like stepping into another world, one where your life has suddenly taken a dramatic turn.

Still in a daze, you return to your bed, clutching your phone tightly. You reopen the conversation with Hongjoong, asking him if any of this was real. You could’ve just been having a highly realistic dream, for all you know. On the other side of the screen, Hongjoong can almost sense your disbelief.

As real as it can be.

But even through the text, you sense a smile, a quiet confidence in his words. Just as you’re beginning to process everything, your phone rings again. It's Seonghwa. His voice is warm, laced with a hint of amusement as he says, “You’re quite the hit lately. Have you heard of it?”

You let out a small laugh, still overwhelmed. “Yes, Hongjoong actually beat you to it.”

There’s a brief pause, and Seonghwa’s voice becomes thoughtful. “Hongjoong texted you first? That’s... unusual.”

“Huh?”

Seonghwa’s mind lingers on this revelation. Hongjoong, known for his reserved nature, seldom initiates contact with others. He was the type to keep his thoughts to himself, preferring the solitude of his creative processes. For him to reach out so directly is… well, it’s unexpected. He wonders if there’s more to this than meets the eye, but he quickly shakes off the thought, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

He continues, his tone lightening again, “Nevermind that. But seriously, congratulations! This is huge.”

You sigh, a mixture of happiness and anxiety bubbling up. “I still can’t believe all of this is real. It feels like things are progressing too quickly, and while I’m happy, there’s this overwhelming feeling somewhere deep inside.”

Seonghwa’s voice softens with empathy. “It’s completely normal to feel that way, especially since this all came out of nowhere. It can be a lot to take in at once.”

You nod, though he can’t see you, and explain your usual method of coping with major news—pushing it aside until you’re ready to fully process it. “So… what I’m saying is I kinda need to put that method to use right now. Is there anything I can help with over there? I need something to focus on, just to distract myself.”

Seonghwa thinks for a moment, considering your offer. “Well, you could help bring some of Hongjoong’s designs to life. Unfortunately, he rarely accepts help, preferring to work alone because it helps him focus. But I’ll mention it to him and see what he says.”

Seonghwa hangs up the phone, placing it gently on the table in front of him. The lounge area of the building is quiet, save for the soft hum of distant conversations and the occasional clink of cups. He leans back in his chair, lost in thought about the conversation he just had with you. Just then, as if on cue, Hongjoong strolls into the lounge, his presence commanding a subtle shift in the room's atmosphere. He spots Seonghwa and heads over, a slight smile playing on his lips.

“Things are turning out well for her, aren’t they?” Hongjoong remarks, settling into the lounge chair across Seonghwa. His tone carries a hint of pride, and Seonghwa can see a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.

Seonghwa, remembering something from the call, tilts his head slightly. “You know, she mentioned you were the first to tell her about all the attention she’s getting. That’s... not exactly your usual style.”

Hongjoong raises an eyebrow, a flicker of something unreadable passing over his face. “What do you mean? I just wanted to congratulate her, that’s all.”

Seonghwa isn’t convinced and leans forward, a playful glint in his eyes. “You don’t even text first when it comes to both me and Wooyoung. What’s the deal?”

Hongjoong chuckles, shaking his head as if dismissing the notion. “It’s nothing. Just thought she should know.”

But Seonghwa isn’t buying the nonchalant act. His eyes narrow playfully, clearly intrigued by this rare deviation from Hongjoong’s usual behavior. Hongjoong, noticing the look, quickly grabs a crumpled paper from his blazer pocket and tosses it at Seonghwa, laughing. “Stop reading too much into it. There’s nothing there.”

Seonghwa catches the paper, laughing as well despite not being entirely convinced. He decides to change the subject, leaning back in his chair. “So, how are the designs for the autumn collection coming along?”

Hongjoong’s eyes light up at the mention of his work. “I’ve been making good progress with the tailoring and even started on some new designs. Though I left my sketchbook in my office today, I’ve got some photos of the pieces.”

He leans forward, pulling out his phone and handing it to Seonghwa. As Seonghwa scrolls through the images, he’s greeted with a series of designs that reflect the collection’s theme. The first few designs are ethereal yet grounded, capturing the essence of the season. There’s a long, flowing coat made of rich, burnt orange wool, adorned with delicate embroidery of falling leaves. The next outfit is a layered ensemble featuring a deep forest green velvet dress, cinched at the waist with a leather belt, and paired with a capelet that mimics the texture of fallen leaves.

Each piece exudes a sense of elegance and warmth, perfectly encapsulating the quiet beauty of autumn. The use of earthy tones, mixed with subtle metallic accents, creates a harmonious blend of nature-inspired elements and modern fashion. Seonghwa can see the meticulous attention to detail in every stitch and fold, each piece a testament to Hongjoong’s artistic vision. It was admirable, as always.

As he continues scrolling, Seonghwa’s eyes widen slightly when he stumbles upon an unexpected photo—a candid shot of you holding a cat, your face soft with a serene smile. It’s a stark contrast to the fashion designs, capturing a moment of unguarded warmth and simplicity. Seonghwa’s mind raced with questions, his curiosity piqued even further. Why does Hongjoong have this photo, and what does it signify?

Quickly, he scrolls back to the fashion designs, masking his surprise. He hands the phone back to Hongjoong, his expression composed but his thoughts swirling. “These are incredible, Hongjoong. The way you’ve captured the essence of autumn is truly impressive. I especially like the use of textures and the color palette—it feels very grounded yet still has that ethereal quality.”

Hongjoong nods, pleased with the feedback. “Thanks, I’ve been working on capturing that balance. Autumn has this quiet, reflective beauty, and I wanted that to come through in the designs.”

Seonghwa nods thoughtfully, but his mind lingers on the photo he saw. He can’t help but wonder if there’s something more going on between you and Hongjoong, something beneath the surface that he hasn’t yet understood. As he hands the phone back, he decides to keep this little discovery to himself, at least for now, storing it away as something to discuss with Wooyoung later.

Clearing his throat, Seonghwa leans forward, his tone thoughtful. “You know, I was talking to her earlier, and she mentioned feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the sudden exposure. It’s a lot for anyone to handle, especially someone so new to the industry. She was wondering if there might be any way she could help with the tailoring of the designs. Not only to get some practical experience but also to have something to focus on, something to keep her grounded while everything else is so chaotic.”

Hongjoong listens intently, his expression contemplative. Seonghwa continues, “I know you usually prefer to work alone, to have complete control over your creative process. And I get that—it’s part of what makes your designs so unique. But maybe just this once, it could be beneficial to have an extra pair of hands. She’s genuinely interested in learning and contributing, and I think it could be a good experience for both of you.”

As Seonghwa speaks, he watches Hongjoong closely, trying to gauge his reaction. Before he can elaborate further, Hongjoong cuts him off with a reassuring smile. “I don’t mind at all. We can start tomorrow.”

Seonghwa’s eyes widened slightly in surprise. That was a quick agreement, far quicker than he expected. “Good, alright. I’ll inform her,” Seonghwa says, still processing Hongjoong’s easy acquiescence. He hesitates for a moment, then adds, almost tentatively, “Or do you want to do it instead...?”

Hongjoong’s brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Seonghwa quickly waves him off, standing up from his seat. “Oh, no, no, nothing. I’ll let her know.” He makes a quick exit, leaving a bewildered Hongjoong behind, still puzzled over the odd exchange.

As Seonghwa strides towards the elevator, the gears in his mind are turning. The ease with which Hongjoong agreed to your involvement, coupled with the candid photo and the early morning text, is starting to form a pattern in Seonghwa’s mind—a pattern that suggests something more than just professional interest.

As the elevator doors open, Seonghwa is met by Wooyoung, who looks ready to step out. Without a second thought, Seonghwa gently but firmly shoves Wooyoung back inside, pressing the button for the floor where his office is located.

“What the hell—” Wooyoung begins, startled by the abruptness of Seonghwa's actions.

Seonghwa cuts him off, a serious look on his face. “There’s something important we need to discuss. Just trust me.”

Wooyoung, sensing the gravity in Seonghwa’s tone, complies without further protest. As they reach Seonghwa’s office, Seonghwa gestures for Wooyoung to double-check the lock on the door, ensuring their privacy. “Just in case Hongjoong walks in.”

Wooyoung complies, yet thete was a puzzled look on his face. “Hongjoong? What does he have to do with this?”

They settled into Seonghwa’s office, the atmosphere thick with anticipation. Seonghwa starts, his tone hushed. “Alright, so get this: Hongjoong texted her first thing this morning to congratulate her on the viral photos. Can you believe that?”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened in surprise. “No way! Hongjoong? Mr. ‘I-Don’t-Do-Small-Talk’? Like, for real?”

Seonghwa nods, his expression mirroring Wooyoung’s shock. “For real. And it gets better. He even had a candid photo of her on his phone. You know, not a posed shot or anything, just her holding a cat. She looked so natural and relaxed. I accidentally saw it while scrolling through his design pictures.”

Wooyoung leans forward, clearly intrigued. “A candid photo? From Hongjoong? That’s... well, I definitely didn’t see that coming. What else did you see?” he asked, pushing for more details.

Seonghwa goes into a contemplative gaze. “That’s the thing, Wooyoung. He never keeps personal photos like that. And then, when I mentioned her feeling overwhelmed by all the attention, he was totally understanding. And, get this, he agreed to let her help with the tailoring for his autumn collection without even hesitating.”

Wooyoung's eyebrows shoot up. “Whoa, hold on. Doesn’t he literally hate people interfering with his work? What do you mean he agreed just like that?”

Seonghwa holds his hands up, still a bit in disbelief himself. “That’s what I don’t get either. No arguments, no reservations. Just ‘sure, she can start tomorrow.’ It’s so out of character for him. Usually, he’s all about keeping things strictly professional and handling everything himself.”

Wooyoung leans back, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “So, let me get this straight. Hongjoong, who never texts first, texts her before anyone else. He’s got a candid, personal photo of her on his phone. And now, he’s okay with her helping out with his designs? That’s…”

Seonghwa nods. “Exactly. And when I asked him about texting her, he brushed it off, saying he just wanted to congratulate her. But I know Hongjoong. He doesn’t do things like this for just anyone. Hell, he doesn’t even text us first, and we've known him for years.”

Wooyoung grins, clearly entertained. “So, what do you think? Is he interested in her? It sure sounds like it.” This was definitely worth the gossip drought that lasted for weeks.

Seonghwa shrugs, though his eyes gleam with curiosity. “I don’t know, but it’s definitely out of the ordinary. I mean, Hongjoong’s not one to show personal interest in anyone, let alone a model he just met.”

Wooyoung clasps his hands together, shaking his head. “This is going to be interesting. We should keep an eye on this. Maybe they’re just friends, or maybe there’s something more. Either way, it’s unusual for Hongjoong.”

Seonghwa and Wooyoung exchange a knowing glance, an idea slowly taking root in Wooyoung's mind. He leans forward, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “You know,” Wooyoung begins, “we could give them a little nudge. Like, play matchmaker. It could be fun.”

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow, hesitating. “We shouldn’t make things awkward between them. What if they’re just forming a friendship? We don’t want to overstep.”

Wooyoung waves off the concern, his enthusiasm undeterred. “I get that, but think about it. Most great love stories start with friendship, right? They’re already getting along well, and there’s clearly something different about how Hongjoong is acting lately. Maybe it’s worth exploring.”

Seonghwa sighs, shaking his head with a faint smile. “You’re incorrigible, you know that? But I suppose you have a point. It’s just... Hongjoong’s been very private about his personal life. We shouldn’t push him into something he’s not ready for.”

Wooyoung nods thoughtfully. “Well, yeah, but he’s been alone for as long as I’ve known him. He’s always so independent and hardworking, constantly putting the company and his designs first. Wouldn’t it be nice for him to have someone who reminds him to take a breather, to enjoy life a little?”

Seonghwa looks away, pondering Wooyoung’s words. He knows that Hongjoong is fiercely dedicated to his work, often to the point of neglecting his own well-being. It’s a quality they all admire, but it also worries them. Hongjoong’s solitary nature, while admirable in its focus, sometimes seemed to be a shield against something deeper.

At the same time, a part of Seonghwa agrees with Wooyoung. Hongjoong deserves to experience love, to be taught what it means to love and be loved in return. To have someone who sees past the professional facade and connects with him on a deeper level. Hongjoong has always been the rock for everyone else, the leader who guides and supports, but who supports him? Seonghwa knows that beneath Hongjoong’s calm exterior is someone who longs for a connection, even if he doesn’t consciously acknowledge it.

Seonghwa finally exhales, nodding in agreement. “Alright, maybe you’re right. He does deserve that chance. But we need to be subtle, okay? We can’t just throw them into situations and expect magic to happen.”

Wooyoung grins, practically bouncing in his seat. “Of course, of course. We’ll be subtle. Well, as subtle as we can be.” He chuckles, already plotting. “We could start with simple things. Like arranging for them to spend more time together, under the guise of work, of course.”

Seonghwa nods, though he can’t help but smile at Wooyoung’s eagerness. „Fine, but let’s keep this quiet. The last thing we need is Hongjoong finding out and feeling pressured or uncomfortable. We’ll just... create opportunities for them to bond naturally?”

Wooyoung’s eyes light up with excitement. “Yes, exactly! This is going to be great. Just trust me on this one.”

Seonghwa sighs, but there’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “Alright, but no wild schemes, okay? We’re not in a rom-com here.”

Wooyoung laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No wild schemes.”

—

The sound of fabric being meticulously fed through the sewing machine filled the room, but despite the soft hum, your mind was anything but calm. The task at hand was supposed to be a distraction from the whirlwind of unexpected fame and the gnawing anxiety about potential backlash—something that often follows a sudden rise to internet prominence. However, the complexities of threading needles and manipulating fabrics were proving to be more challenging than anticipated. You couldn’t help but think that perhaps this was a bad idea, a sentiment only reinforced by the knots of frustration building in your stomach.

Hongjoong had stepped out to go to the restroom for a moment, giving you a brief respite. It was just enough time to let out a sigh of frustration, your hands pausing their clumsy movements. You were aware of how out of your depth you were, fumbling with the sewing machine in a way that likely confirmed his suspicions. He had asked several times if you needed help, always with a gentle tone that hinted at his concern. But pride—or perhaps a stubborn streak—had kept you from admitting just how lost you felt.

“Maybe I should’ve just volunteered to be burned at the stake in a Salem witch trial—”

“Are you alright?” Hongjoong’s voice sliced through your musings, making you jump slightly. You straightened up quickly, feigning concentration as you adjusted the fabric under the needle. The effort was futile; the moment Hongjoong leaned over your shoulder, his hand resting gently on yours, your cool façade crumbled.

His close proximity, the soft warmth of his hand, and the subtle, intoxicating scent of his cologne were all too distracting. “I’m gonna ask you a question, and I’m gonna need you to answer it in full honesty. Is that okay?”

You swallowed hard, your gaze darting from his hand to his face and then back to the sewing machine. “I... um... sure, go ahead,” you stammered, trying to keep your voice at bay.

“Do you know how to use a sewing machine?” he asked, his tone patient yet direct.

You winced, slumping in your seat as you covered your face with your hands in embarrassment. “I thought it would be easy,” you admitted, your voice muffled by your palms. “But I had no idea it would be so... intricate? I think I’ve used up half my patience already.”

Before you could spiral further into self-recrimination, Hongjoong’s soft laughter broke the tension. It was a soothing sound, yet its proximity sent an unexpected shiver down your spine. He pulled a chair over and sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. You kept your eyes fixed on the sewing machine, too embarrassed to meet his gaze.

“Don’t worry,” he said gently, taking your hand in his once more. “Everyone starts somewhere. Let me guide you through it.”

“Alright, let’s start with the basics,” he began, his voice warm and steady. “First, we need to thread the machine properly. It can be a bit tricky at first, but once you get the hang of it, it becomes second nature.”

He gently guided your fingers to the spool pin, showing you how to place the thread. “Make sure the thread is placed securely here,” he explained, his hand lingering over yours for a moment. “Then, we’ll pull it through the tension disks. This part is crucial because it controls the tension of your stitches. If it’s too loose or too tight, your fabric might bunch up or the stitches might break.”

You nodded, trying to focus on his instructions rather than the slight warmth of his hand. “Got it,” you murmured, glancing at him again. His eyes were intent on the machine, but there was a softness in his gaze.

“Next, we bring the thread down here,” he continued, guiding your hand to the take-up lever. “This part moves up and down as you sew, pulling the thread through the fabric. It’s important to make sure the thread is seated properly in the eye of the lever.”

You tried to mimic his movements, your fingers fumbling slightly. He caught your hesitation and gently corrected your grip, his touch light but firm. “Like this,” he demonstrated, pulling the thread through the lever with practiced ease. “See? It’s all about smooth, even motions.”

You nodded again, feeling a bit more confident but still acutely aware of the slight tension in the air. It wasn’t uncomfortable, just... different. “And finally, we guide the thread through the needle,” he said, his voice low and patient. “This part can be a bit tricky, especially if the needle’s eye is small. Just take your time and don’t rush.”

As you attempted to thread the needle, your hand shook slightly, and you fumbled with the delicate thread. Hongjoong leaned closer, his breath warm against your cheek as he steadied your hand. “Here, let me help,” he offered, his tone gentle. He carefully guided the thread through the needle’s eye, his fingers brushing against yours in the process.

“There we go,” he said with a satisfied smile, leaning back a bit. “Now, let’s get to the sewing part. Start by placing the fabric under the presser foot, like this.” He demonstrated, his hands guiding yours to position the fabric correctly. “Make sure it’s aligned straight with the needle and the edge of the foot.”

You followed his instructions, your eyes focused on the machine but your mind wandering slightly. There was something about this whole situation—the quiet focus, the close proximity, the shared task—that felt nice. You couldn’t help but feel a slight twinge of self-consciousness, wondering if he could sense your awkwardness.

“Now, gently press the pedal to start the machine,” Hongjoong instructed, his hand still lightly resting on yours. “Don’t go too fast; just a slow, steady pace. That’ll give you more control.”

You did as he said, the machine whirring to life as you guided the fabric through. Hongjoong watched closely, offering occasional tips and corrections. “Try to keep your hands steady,” he advised. “And remember, it’s okay to stop and readjust if you need to.”

“Okay, got it,” you replied, focusing intently on the fabric and the machine’s needle. But despite your best efforts, you could feel your heart beating a little faster, your palms slightly sweaty. It was all so new, and the added pressure of having Hongjoong right there, guiding you, was both comforting and nerve-wracking.

As you continued to sew, the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm. Hongjoong’s instructions were clear and patient, and his occasional praise—“Good, that’s perfect,” or “You’re getting the hang of it”—helped to ease your nerves. Still, there were moments when you couldn’t help but feel a slight, almost imperceptible tension. It wasn’t unpleasant, just a subtle awareness of his presence, of the closeness between you as he guided your hands and offered gentle encouragement.

After a few more passes, he smiled at you, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. “You’re doing really well,” he said, giving your hand a light squeeze before releasing it. “Just keep practicing, and you’ll be a pro in no time.”

You smiled back, feeling a mix of relief and a strange, fluttering excitement. “Thanks, Hongjoong,” you said, your voice a bit softer than you intended. “I really appreciate your help.”

As you continued to practice, the room was filled with a quiet focus, the sound of the sewing machine blending with the soft rustle of fabrics and the occasional tap of Hongjoong’s fingers on the table as he worked on his designs. The space was filled with mannequins adorned with various pieces in different stages of completion, each a testament to his creativity and skill.

Hongjoong stood by one of the mannequins, testing out different fabrics and adjusting the drape of a garment. It was a half-finished piece, a beautiful autumn-inspired dress, rich with deep, warm hues and delicate detailing. The design was stunning even in its incomplete state, with layers of fabric cascading down in elegant folds. The room, spacious and filled with natural light, was a perfect backdrop for his work, highlighting the textures and colors of his creations.

As you worked, you found yourself unconsciously humming. It was a habit you’d developed over the years, a way to keep yourself company during moments of concentration. The tune was “La Vie en Rose,” a classic melody that had always been a favorite of yours. Lost in the rhythm of your work, you didn’t notice Hongjoong glancing over his shoulder, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he recognized the song.

The peaceful atmosphere continued until you completed your practice piece, checking the fabric carefully. To your delight, it was flawless, and you couldn’t help but let out a small gasp of triumph. You looked up, catching Hongjoong’s eye as he turned towards you, clearly curious about your reaction.

“I think I’m ready to help out,” you announced, holding up the fabric proudly.

Hongjoong smiled, a warm and encouraging expression on his face. “Really? Let's get to work, then.”

You quickly tidied up your workspace, eager to join him. As you approached, you got a closer look at the dress he was working on. It was even more beautiful up close, with detailed stitching and a careful blend of textures. The design was both modern and timeless, capturing the essence of autumn with its rich color palette and sophisticated lines.

On the table next to the mannequin, you noticed Hongjoong’s sketchbook. The sketches inside were detailed and precise, showcasing his vision for the final piece. You couldn’t help but compliment him, your voice filled with genuine admiration. “This looks incredible, Hongjoong. The sketches were already amazing, but seeing it come to life... It’s even better.”

He waved off your praise modestly, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s not even halfway done yet,” he said, glancing at the dress. “There’s still a lot of work to do. That’s where your help comes in.”

He gestured towards the dress, explaining his vision for the piece. “I need to work on the intricate details around the neckline and sleeves. There’s a specific embroidery pattern I want to incorporate, but it requires a steady hand and a lot of patience. I thought we could split the tasks—I’ll focus on the main body of the dress, and you can help with the embroidery.”

You nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. “I’d love to help with the embroidery. It sounds like a challenge, but I’m up for it.”

Hongjoong smiled, clearly pleased with your enthusiasm. “Great. I’ll show you the pattern and we can go over the details together. It’s important to get the proportions and spacing just right, especially since the embroidery will be a key feature of the design.”

“For this part,” he said, pointing to a section on the sketch, “we’ll use a simple running stitch to outline the design. It’s straightforward but effective, especially for creating clean lines. The trick is to keep your stitches consistent in length. If they’re too short or too long, it can throw off the balance of the pattern.”

As he demonstrated, you watched closely, noting the way his fingers moved deftly with the needle and thread. His attention to detail was impressive, and it was clear that every element of the design had been carefully considered.

“Next, we’ll add some texture with a chain stitch,” Hongjoong continued, switching to another part of the design. “It’s great for creating a sense of depth and can really make certain areas pop. You’ll want to keep your tension even, not too tight or too loose, so the stitches sit nicely against the fabric.”

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but notice the passion in his eyes. It was evident in the way he talked about each technique, his dedication to his craft shining through. There was something incredibly admirable about his focus and commitment, and it made you feel even more determined to do your best.

Once you both began working, the conversation naturally shifted to lighter topics. Hongjoong broke the comfortable silence first, glancing over at you with a curious expression. “By the way, earlier... you were humming a song. Was it ‘La Vie en Rose’?”

You blinked, momentarily confused. You hadn’t even realized you were humming. “Oh, was I…? Yeah, that’s a favorite of mine,” you admitted with a small chuckle, recalling the familiar melody. “My dad used to play it all the time when I was younger. He had this old recorder, and ‘La Vie en Rose’ was always his go-to song. I guess it just stuck with me.”

Hongjoong listened attentively, a soft smile forming on his lips. “It’s a beautiful song. There’s something timeless about it.”

You nodded, feeling a warm nostalgia wash over you. “Yeah, it’s one of those songs that just... helps me focus. I hum it when I’m trying to concentrate, and sometimes I don’t even realize I’m doing it.”

As you shared your story, Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on you, a subtle fondness in his eyes. He seemed genuinely interested, as if he enjoyed hearing about these little aspects of your life. When you looked up from your work, catching his eye, he quickly averted his gaze, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks.

You smiled, amused by the small moment of shyness. “Do you have a favorite artist?”

Hongjoong’s eyes lit up at the question. “David Bowie,” he replied without hesitation.

“Really? Great choice,” you said, your admiration clear in your tone. “How did you get into his music?”

Hongjoong leaned back slightly, reminiscing. “Back in my school days, a friend of mine always shared their earphones with me. They had a playlist full of David Bowie songs, and I just... got hooked. His music was so different from anything else I’d heard at the time.”

“Was it Seonghwa?” you asked, curious.

Hongjoong shook his head, a faint, nostalgic smile playing on his lips. “No, it was someone else. We’ve… lost touch over the years.”

Before you could ask more, your phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with a notification from an app you rarely used. Hongjoong glanced at the screen and recognized the image on your lockscreen. “You set that as your wallpaper?” he asked, a note of amusement in his voice as he saw the candid photo he had taken of you and the cat.

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, I couldn’t resist. It’s just too cute not to use as my lockscreen.”

Hongjoong chuckled, clearly pleased. “How’s the little guy doing?”

“Oh, you know, the usual,” you replied with a grin. “Running away from me and munching on the flowers in our landlord’s garden. He’s a real troublemaker.”

Hongjoong laughed at this, the sound warm and genuine. “It’s hard to imagine him being so mischievous. He looked so sweet and innocent when I saw him.”

You raised an eyebrow playfully. “Maybe you should come by again sometime and see for yourself just how mischievous he can be.”

Hongjoong paused, momentarily caught off guard. Was that an invitation? The way you said it, with a casual laugh, made it seem like a harmless joke. But there was a part of him that wondered if there was more to it. He quickly dismissed the thought, reminding himself to stay focused on the task at hand.

As you continued working on the embroidery, a sudden sharp pain shot through your finger. A fairly large needle had slipped through your grasp, piercing your skin and drawing a bead of blood. You hissed in pain, “Ow!”

Hongjoong immediately turned his attention away from the dress, concern etched across his face as he took a few quick steps toward you. “Are you alright?” he asked, his voice soft yet filled with urgency. “Let me see your hand.”

You extended your injured hand toward him, wincing as you saw the small but painful wound. Hongjoong frowned, setting your hand gently on the table. “Hold on a moment,” he said, heading over to one of the drawers where he kept a first aid kit. He quickly retrieved the necessary supplies, including antiseptic wipes, a bandage, and some ointment.

Returning to your side, he crouched down to be at eye level with you. When you made a move to stand, thinking you should let him take the seat, he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, guiding you to sit back down. “Stay put,” he instructed softly, his eyes meeting yours briefly before he focused on your injured finger.

Hongjoong took your hand with a surprising tenderness, carefully cleaning the wound. “You’ve got to be more careful next time, alright?” he said, his tone gentle yet firm.

You nodded, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Sorry, I’ll definitely keep that in mind.” He looked up at you and smiled, a small, reassuring curve of his lips that made your heart flutter unexpectedly. He then returned his focus to your finger, diligently applying ointment and wrapping it with a bandage.

As he worked, you couldn’t help but let your gaze linger on his face. The way his brow furrowed slightly in concentration, the soft lines of his features... It struck you how effortlessly handsome he was, even in such a simple moment. You found yourself thinking that models must be relieved he chose to become a fashion designer instead of competing with them in front of the camera.

Lost in your thoughts, you suddenly blurted out, “Your lashes look pretty.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, catching both you and Hongjoong by surprise.

He paused, then chuckled, clearly amused. “No, I mean, sorry,” you quickly tried to recover, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I just have this habit of accidentally saying things out loud that are supposed to stay in my head...”

Hongjoong’s laugh, warm and genuine, cuts off your rambling. “It’s alright,” he said, still chuckling softly. “I’m flattered.”

As he continued tending to your wound, you noticed the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners when he smiled, and how his presence seemed to have a calming effect on you, even when you felt like you were spiraling. You realized that he had probably picked up on your tendency to speak in a single breath whenever you were nervous or flustered—a trait you found a bit embarrassing, but he seemed to find endearing. It’s a little strange.

“Tell you what,” Hongjoong began, a playful glint in his eyes as he looked up at you. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll share one of my unsaid thoughts too.”

You tilted your head, intrigued and a little wary. “I’d appreciate that,” you said, though you weren’t sure what to expect.

Hongjoong smiled, finishing up the bandage on your finger. “I think you look pretty.”

The words hit you like a gentle wave, unexpected yet disarming. You blinked, trying to process what he had just said. Did he… did he really just call you pretty? Your mind raced, heart pounding as you tried to find a response. Was he just being nice? Or was there something more to it? Maybe he was joking? Or not, given his sincere gaze? You felt your cheeks heating up again, and you could barely string together a coherent thought.

As you stared at him, wide-eyed and flustered, Hongjoong laughed softly at your reaction. “Sorry,” he said, his tone teasing but gentle. “Didn’t mean to catch you off guard.”

You knew from the look in his eyes and the slight smirk on his lips that he definitely meant to say that.

You both returned to your respective tasks, but focusing proved more difficult than before. Your heart raced, and every so often, your thoughts drifted back to Hongjoong’s unexpected compliment. It lingered in your mind, making it hard to concentrate on the delicate stitches you were working on. The realization of why your heart was fluttering was something you preferred to push aside for now, not wanting to dwell on the implications.

Meanwhile, outside the room, hushed whispers filled the corridor, inaudible to you and Hongjoong inside. Wooyoung, eyes wide and a hand covering his mouth, turned to Seonghwa beside him. “So...” he began, trying to process what they had just overheard.

Seonghwa met Wooyoung’s gaze with a similar look of surprise. “No way. Are they really...”

Wooyoung furrowed his brows in contemplation. “But if they were together, wouldn’t she have responded with something flirty? Like, you know, bantering back?”

Seonghwa shook his head, disagreeing. “She’s not that type of person. Not from what I’ve seen.”

Wooyoung pointed out, “Yeah, but when she told him his lashes looked pretty, she started apologizing like crazy. Would she do that if they were dating?”

Seonghwa considered this, then shook his head again. “Uh… no, definitely not. It’s not every day someone apologizes for complimenting their partner.”

“So... what’s the deal with them?” Wooyoung asked, genuinely puzzled.

Seonghwa shrugged, a thoughtful look on his face. “I think they’re just friends, but there’s definitely something more simmering beneath the surface. You can feel the chemistry, even from out here.”

Wooyoung nodded, his curiosity piqued. “The awkward tension between them definitely supports your theory. That’s how these things usually start, right?”

He paused, then added with a mischievous grin, “Do we even need to play matchmaker? It feels like they’re figuring it out on their own.”

Seonghwa laughed softly, a sound almost lost in the quiet hallway, but Wooyoung quickly hushed him. “Shh, we can’t let them know we’re here!”

Wooyoung then pondered aloud, “Now that I think about it, they would make a cute couple. Imagine being a model and dating the creative director of the brand you’re working for... It’s like something out of a romance movie.”

Seonghwa nodded in agreement, his voice barely a whisper. “It’s only a matter of time before he starts designing pieces specifically for her, just like he used to—”

Their conversation was abruptly cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps from inside the room. Panicking, Seonghwa and Wooyoung exchanged wide-eyed looks before quickly scurrying away, eager to avoid getting caught eavesdropping on their friend’s private moment.

Hongjoong spared a glance at both sides of the hall, a confused expression on his face. “I could’ve sworn I heard something from out here…”

—

A couple of weeks passed, and although the internet buzz surrounding you hadn’t entirely died down, you managed to keep yourself distracted from any concerns about potential media backlash. The credit for this went to Hongjoong, who had embraced your offer to assist with his designs. This partnership provided you both with a creative outlet and a much-needed escape from the spotlight.

You stood before the now-completed outfit you had both worked on, admiring the intricate details and the seamless blend of fabrics. “It’s stunning,” you remarked, your voice filled with awe. “I can’t believe how beautiful it turned out.”

Hongjoong smiled warmly at your words, pride evident in his eyes. “You should take some credit too,” he replied. “I genuinely think it wouldn’t have looked this good if I had done it all alone. Your input was invaluable.”

His compliment made you feel shy, a soft blush creeping onto your cheeks. “Well, if you ever need a hand in the future, I’d be more than happy to help,” you offered, your voice slightly timid.

“I’d like that,” Hongjoong murmured, almost as if speaking to himself. An idea seemed to cross his mind, and he looked at you with a glint of excitement. “How about I take you out to dinner tonight? You deserve a proper thank you for all your help. It’s not every day someone offers their time and skill like you did, and I’d like to show my appreciation in a way that’s more than just words.”

You started to shake your head, feeling that such a gesture was too much. “Oh, you really don’t have to. It’s nothing, really...”

But Hongjoong was persistent—as he always seemed to be. He smiled reassuringly, his tone firm yet gentle. “Nonsense. You’ve done more than enough to earn a nice evening out. So, let me treat you. I’ll pick you up from your apartment around eight. Just be ready.”

You couldn’t help but laugh lightly at his insistence, knowing you wouldn’t win this argument. “Alright, alright,” you conceded. “But I’m not expecting you to take me anywhere high-end.”

Hongjoong’s smile grew a little mischievous. “Maybe I will be,” he teased, refusing to give a clear answer. “Just be ready, and leave the rest to me.”

A part of you wondered if this dinner had been on his mind for a while, but you pushed that thought aside, nodding in agreement. Your phone buzzed with a message from Madame Dupont, urgently informing you that Pompidou was scratching at your apartment door. Your eyes widened, and you quickly told Hongjoong, “Oh no. I’ve got to go. See you tonight!” before rushing out.

Hongjoong watched you leave, a bemused expression on his face. He shrugged lightly and turned back to the outfit on the mannequin, admiring the final product one last time before heading back to his office. When he arrived, he found Wooyoung lounging comfortably in his chair, looking as if he belonged there.

“Sometimes I wonder if this office belongs to you or me,” Hongjoong mused, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

Wooyoung grinned cheekily. “It’s not my fault your office is so comfy. Anyway, are you free tonight? I need someone to go grocery shopping with me,” he whined dramatically. “My fridge is empty, and I feel like I might starve to death.”

Hongjoong chuckled, shaking his head. “Sorry, maybe next time. I’ve got plans tonight.”

Wooyoung’s curiosity piqued, his eyes narrowing with interest and a mischievous glint in them. “Plans? With who?”

Hongjoong hesitated for a moment, knowing where this conversation was headed. “With her,” he finally said, referring to you. “I’m taking her out to dinner to thank her for helping me with the designs.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened, a playful glint appearing in them. He leaned forward, his expression full of intrigue and mischief, as if he had just discovered the juiciest piece of gossip. “Oh? Really? Just the two of you?” he teased, his voice dripping with implication.

Hongjoong sighed, deadpanning, “I know that look, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, a grin spreading across his face. “So, is this a date?” he asked, stretching the last word with a teasing tone.

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, trying to maintain his composure. “No, it’s not a date. It’s just a dinner to say thank you.”

“Oh, come on,” Wooyoung drawled, clearly not buying it. “You hesitated. You’ve got to admit there’s something there. The way you two have been spending time together...”

Hongjoong shook his head, though a small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re reading too much into it. It’s just dinner.”

“Just dinner?” Wooyoung echoed, disbelief lacing his tone. “You don’t take just anyone to a fancy restaurant, do you? I mean, I can’t remember the last time you took me to a nice place, and I’m practically your best friend.”

“It’s not about the restaurant,” Hongjoong insisted, though he couldn’t help but chuckle at Wooyoung’s theatrics. “It’s about appreciating her help.”

Wooyoung leaned back, crossing his arms with a knowing grin. “Sure, just dinner. But you don’t have to dress up for ‘just dinner,’ do you? Or pick her up personally? It’s almost like... I don’t know, like a date?”

Hongjoong could feel himself being cornered, yet he maintained his stance. “It’s not a date, Wooyoung. It’s a gesture of appreciation. Nothing more, nothing less.”

Wooyoung leaned in closer, his grin widening. “Oh, I see. So, if she shows up looking stunning and you two have a great time, it still won’t be a date?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re dodging the question,” Wooyoung shot back, laughing. “But seriously, it’s great that you’re taking her out. You two would look good together.”

Hongjoong shook his head again, though his smile remained. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Wooyoung grinned. “But hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Well, let everyone think what they want. We’re just friends.”

“For now,” Wooyoung teased, his voice sing-song. “But you know, friends can become more. It’s like a... pre-date.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “Pre-date?”

Wooyoung nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Like a test run. You get to see how you feel about it, how she feels about it. It’s perfect! And if it goes well, who knows? Maybe it’ll turn into something more.”

“You’re really reaching here,” Hongjoong said, though he couldn’t help but laugh. “But I appreciate your enthusiasm.”

“Well, someone has to be enthusiastic about your love life,” Wooyoung quipped, grinning. “You’re too busy being all serious and professional.”

Hongjoong shook his head, still smiling. “I think I can manage my own love life, thank you very much.”

“Sure, sure,” Wooyoung replied, waving his hand dismissively. “But just remember, if it turns into a real date, I called it first.”

Hongjoong laughed, finally giving in to the lighthearted teasing. “Fine, you can have the credit if it does. But for now, it’s just dinner.”

“Just dinner,” Wooyoung repeated, still grinning. “We’ll see about that.”

Hours later, Wooyoung was proven right as he and Seonghwa found themselves in Hongjoong’s penthouse, assisting him in choosing the perfect outfit. The room was filled with various clothing options—jackets, shirts, pants—scattered across the furniture. Hongjoong stood before a full-length mirror, trying on a sleek dark blue suit that accentuated his figure.

“He kept insisting it’s not a date, but look at him now,” Wooyoung whispered to Seonghwa, chuckling as they observed Hongjoong’s meticulous attention to detail. He adjusted his tie, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“Maybe he just didn’t want to admit it’s a date because then he’d have to acknowledge it’s the first time he’s taken someone to a fancy restaurant,” Seonghwa whispered back, both of them stifling laughter. The idea that Hongjoong was fussing over an outfit over an occasion he swears isn’t a date was both endearing and amusing.

Hongjoong turned to them, an unamused expression on his face. “Are you two going to help me decide which of these looks more presentable, or are you going to keep gossiping about me even when I’m right in front of you?”

“The latter,” both Wooyoung and Seonghwa replied in unison, causing Hongjoong to roll his eyes with a sigh of resignation.

“Alright, alright, let’s get serious,” Wooyoung said, standing up from the bed. He approached Hongjoong, scrutinizing the suit. The tailored fit and elegant fabric gave off a sophisticated vibe, yet it felt a bit too formal for the occasion. “Maybe something a bit less formal?” Wooyoung suggested, tilting his head in contemplation.

As Seonghwa was about to offer his opinion, his phone buzzed with a message notification. Glancing down, he saw it was from you, containing photos of two different outfits with a message.

Which one looks better?

Seonghwa smiled, knowing you hadn’t mentioned the dinner to him but aware of it nonetheless. You probably thought he was unaware of the plan. He quickly assessed the outfits you sent, noticing that the second—a chic, knee-length dress with elegant detailing—would pair perfectly with one of the outfits Hongjoong had yet to try on. Without revealing his thoughts, he texted back, “Go for the second one,” before slipping his phone back into his pocket.

“Hongjoong, try on the dark black suit with the silk dress shirt of the same color,” Seonghwa suggested, nodding towards the outfit laid out on the couch. The combination was stylish yet not overly formal, balancing sophistication with a touch of modern flair.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow but complied, heading to the bathroom to change. When he returned, the outfit fit him perfectly, the deep blue contrasting nicely with his complexion and highlighting his eyes. Seonghwa and Wooyoung exchanged satisfied looks.

Seonghwa walked towards him, undoing the first two buttons. Once he was done, he stepped back and nodded approvingly. “You should wear that one.”

Hongjoong looked puzzled. “Why this one?”

Seonghwa simply smiled, shaking his head. “Just trust me on this one,” he insisted, not revealing that the choice was to complement your outfit.

Meanwhile, you were at home, finishing up your preparations. After much deliberation, you had chosen the outfit Seonghwa recommended. The dress was elegant yet understated, perfect for an evening out without feeling too over the top. You sat on your bed, waiting for Hongjoong’s message, your heart fluttering with anticipation and nerves. As the clock struck 8 PM, your phone buzzed with a message from him.

I’m outside.

You quickly grabbed your purse, slipped your phone inside, and made sure to lock your apartment door before heading down to the ground floor.

Stepping outside, you were greeted by the sight of Hongjoong leaning casually against his car, his eyes focused on his phone. The soft glow of the streetlights highlighted his sharp features—the strong jawline, the soft curve of his lips, and the way his hair was neatly styled. The suit he wore brought out his eyes, making them seem even more captivating in the dim light.

“Hongjoong?” you called out, your voice slightly hesitant. He looked up immediately, his eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, his expression softened, a warm smile spreading across his face as he took in your appearance.

As you walked over to him, you could see the admiration in his eyes. He seemed momentarily taken aback by how beautiful you looked, the dress flattering your figure in all the right ways. The elegant fabric and subtle detailing accentuated your features without being too flashy. “Hi,” you greeted him, offering a shy smile.

Instead of a typical greeting, Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on you, and he finally spoke, his voice soft but sincere. “You look beautiful.”

You laughed lightly, feeling a flush of warmth at his compliment. “Isn’t that supposed to be an unsaid thought?”

Hongjoong chuckled, shaking his head. “Not tonight, it isn’t.”

He moved to the passenger side of the car, opening the door with a gentlemanly gesture. “After you,” he said, his tone playful yet sincere. You thanked him, slipping into the car, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. He closed the door gently, then walked around to the driver’s side and got in.

As the car pulled away, you found yourself gazing out the window, mesmerized by the city’s beauty. The streets were alive with lights, the architecture blending old-world charm with modern elegance. The cityscape seemed to sparkle, creating a romantic and enchanting atmosphere. “Paris is so beautiful...” you whispered, almost in awe of the city’s charm.

Hongjoong glanced over at you, smiling. “It is, isn’t it?” he agreed, his tone reflecting the warmth of your admiration.

The drive continued in comfortable silence, the city's lights creating a mesmerizing backdrop. Eventually, the car came to a stop in front of a high-end restaurant. The building exudes elegance, with large windows showcasing the warm, inviting interior. You looked over at Hongjoong, a hint of hesitation in your eyes. You weren’t used to such fancy places, and the grandeur of the setting made you feel slightly nervous.

Hongjoong noticed your unease and offered you a reassuring smile, his eyes filled with warmth. “It’s going to be great,” he said softly, his voice calming your nerves. He stepped out of the car and walked around to open your door, offering his hand to help you out.

Inside, the restaurant was elegantly decorated, with soft lighting and tasteful decor creating an intimate atmosphere. A waiter greeted you both with a warm smile. “Good evening, sir, madam. Welcome to Le Ciel de Paris,” he said, his voice professional. “May I say, you look lovely this evening, miss,” he added, glancing at you appreciatively.

Hongjoong nodded in acknowledgment, and the waiter led you to the highest floor—a stunning rooftop with a breathtaking view of the city. The night sky was a canvas of deep blues and purples, dotted with stars. A reserved table awaited you, set with fine china and candles, adding to the comforting ambiance.

As you took your seat, you couldn’t help but express your gratitude and slight apprehension. “This is all so... beautiful,” you whispered, your hands fidgeting slightly. “But honestly, Hongjoong, I really don’t think I deserve—”

Your words were cut off as Hongjoong placed his hand gently over yours, his touch warm and reassuring. “Hey,” he said softly, his gaze steady and sincere. “You deserve this. You’ve been amazing, and I wanted to show my appreciation.”

The sincerity in his voice eased your worries, and you nodded, smiling gratefully. Just then, the waiter approached your table, ready to take your orders. “Good evening. May I start you off with something to drink?” he asked, his pen poised over his notepad.

Hongjoong glanced at you, then back at the waiter. “We’ll have a bottle of your finest white wine, please,” he said, and the waiter nodded, jotting it down.

“And for the main course?” the waiter inquired, looking between the two of you.

Hongjoong smiled at you. “What would you like? Do you have any preferences?”

You looked at the menu, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the options, none of which were familiar to you. “I haven’t tried any of these before... I think I’ll just have whatever you recommend,” you said, smiling sheepishly.

Hongjoong nodded understandingly, then turned to the waiter. “She’ll have the grilled sea bass with lemon herb sauce, and I’ll have the filet mignon with truffle butter,” he ordered confidently, choosing dishes he thought you would enjoy.

The waiter nodded, noting down your orders. “Excellent choice, sir. Your meals will be out shortly,” he said, giving a polite bow before leaving.

As the evening continued, you and Hongjoong indulged in light conversation, gradually easing into more personal topics. You took a sip of your wine and asked, “So, how are you feeling now that Fashion Week is drawing closer? I know there’s still a few months left, but it’s not as far as it used to be.”

Hongjoong leaned back slightly, exhaling softly. “Honestly? I do feel a little pressured and stressed out. The beginning of the process was quite overdue, which has added some tension,” he confessed, his eyes reflecting the weight of his responsibilities.

Hearing this, you immediately felt a pang of guilt. You were acutely aware that the delay was partly due to the time it took for you to return his sketchbook. “I’m so sorry about the sketchbook... I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble or delay,” you began, your voice tinged with regret.

But Hongjoong quickly shook his head, raising a hand to stop you. “No, don’t apologize. It’s not your fault at all. I completely understand why it took a while. You had your own reasons, and I respect that,” he assured you, his tone gentle and understanding. “Besides, I’m grateful it was you who found it. The sketches are as personal as they are professional, and I couldn’t have asked for a better person to return them.”

He then shifted the conversation, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “As for my goals for Fashion Week, I’m really aiming to showcase something unique. I want my collection to tell a story—something that resonates on a deeper level with people. I’ve been working on integrating sustainable practices into the designs, focusing on eco-friendly materials and innovative techniques. It’s a challenge, but it’s important to me. I want to highlight not just fashion but also a message about sustainability and conscious consumerism.”

You listened intently, impressed by his dedication and vision. “That sounds amazing. It’s great that you’re thinking about the bigger picture, not just the fashion itself but the impact it has on the world. It’s a refreshing approach in an industry that can sometimes seem so detached from these issues,” you responded, your admiration evident in your voice. “It’s inspiring to see someone so committed to their values and willing to take on the challenge of integrating them into their work.”

Hongjoong smiled, appreciating your support and understanding. “Thank you. It’s definitely a journey, but it’s one I’m passionate about. There’s a lot of work to be done, but I believe it’s worth it.”

As the conversation naturally flowed, Hongjoong turned the focus back to you, his expression curious and concerned. “How have you been handling the sudden exposure to the media? It must be a big change for you.”

You sighed, glancing around the restaurant. You noticed a fair portion of the other diners occasionally glancing in your direction. It was hard to tell if they were looking at Hongjoong, you, or perhaps both of you. The attention felt overwhelming, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

Hongjoong noticed your unease and seemed to read your thoughts. “They’re definitely looking at you,” he said, a wry smile on his lips. “People are still curious about you. The media has been persistent, trying to learn more about your background.”

You sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck, feeling the weight of his words. “It’s quite a lot to take in,” you admitted, your voice carrying a hint of anxiety. “Honestly, it’s a bit scary. What often happens with people who suddenly go viral is that the media and the public can switch up on them. One moment you’re the person everyone wants to know about, and the next, they’re tearing you down for no reason. I can’t help but worry about that, about what people might say or think. There’s probably already hate comments about me out there, and it’s just... unsettling.”

Hongjoong leaned forward, his gaze sincere and reassuring. “I understand your concerns, but you shouldn’t waste your time or energy worrying about those people,” he said firmly. “There will always be people who are negative or try to bring others down, especially online where it’s so easy to hide behind anonymity. But what matters is how you handle it. You’ve been genuine and true to yourself, and that’s all anyone can ask for. The people who care about you and respect you will see that, and they’re the ones whose opinions truly matter. The rest is just noise.”

His words were comforting, a reminder to focus on the positive and not let negativity overshadow your experiences. Just as you were about to respond, the waiter arrived with your meals, expertly setting down the plates before you. The aroma of the food was enticing, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for the delicious meal in front of you.

“Thank you,” you said to the waiter, then turned to Hongjoong with a smile. “And thank you, Hongjoong, for this lovely dinner. It’s really thoughtful of you.”

He smiled warmly. “It’s my pleasure. I’m glad we could spend this evening together.”

You took your first bite of the grilled sea bass, savoring the delicate flavors. The lemon herb sauce complemented the fish perfectly, creating a harmonious and delightful taste. You looked up at Hongjoong, your eyes shining with delight. “This is really good! You definitely recommended the right dish.”

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” Hongjoong said, his smile broadening. “I wanted you to have a good experience here.”

Curious, you asked, “Do you come here often?”

He shook his head. “Not really. I usually only come here when Wooyoung or Seonghwa or both invite me to dinner. I rarely go to extravagant places alone. I prefer staying home or in the office, losing myself in work. It’s just more comfortable for me that way, I guess.”

The evening seemed to slip away like sand through your fingers. Before you knew it, you were seated comfortably in Hongjoong’s car, the soft hum of the engine a soothing backdrop as he began the drive to your apartment. The day’s events, from the delightful meal to the heartfelt conversations, had left you pleasantly exhausted. As you gazed out the window, watching the city lights blur past, you felt your eyelids grow heavy. Hongjoong glanced over, noticing your drowsiness.

“You can sleep if you want to,” he offered kindly, his voice a soft murmur. “I’ll wake you up when we reach your apartment.”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if it would be alright to take up his offer. “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.”

He smiled gently, reassuring you with a calm, “Why wouldn’t it be? It’s no trouble at all.”

Relieved, you returned his smile and shifted in your seat, leaning your head against the cool glass of the window. As your eyes fluttered closed, the rhythmic motion of the car lulled you into a peaceful slumber. Hongjoong kept his focus on the road, but every now and then, he glanced over at you, noting your serene expression. As the car came to a halt at a red light, he took the opportunity to gently remove his blazer and drape it over you, ensuring you were warm and comfortable. For a brief moment, he found himself mesmerized by your features, a sense of quiet admiration washing over him. A stray strand of your hair fell across your face, and without thinking, he reached out with the intention to brush it away. Just as his fingers were about to touch your skin, the light turned green, pulling him back to reality. He quickly withdrew his hand, clearing his throat and refocusing on the road.

As Hongjoong navigated the familiar streets leading to your apartment, he gently tapped your shoulder three times, rousing you from your nap. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, until your eyes met his. The warmth in his gaze instantly put you at ease. “We’re almost there,” he informed you, a soft smile on his lips.

You nodded, slowly coming back to full awareness. It was then that you noticed his blazer draped over you, the scent of his perfume subtly filling your senses. It carried a complex blend of fruity, floral, and musky notes. Grateful for the warmth, you pulled the fabric closer, a small, appreciative smile gracing your lips.

Upon reaching your apartment building, Hongjoong exited the car first, walking around to your side to open the door. He extended his hand, helping you out of the car. “Thank you,” you murmured, taking his hand and stepping out gracefully. You took a moment to straighten the slight wrinkles in your dress, feeling a bit more composed.

Just as you were about to express your gratitude, a familiar feline figure appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The cat leaped up, not into your arms as expected, but into Hongjoong’s, causing him to let out a small gasp of surprise. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at the sight of him awkwardly adjusting his grip to properly hold the cat.

“Looks like Pompidou missed you,” you remarked with a fond smile, tilting your head as you watched the scene unfold.

Hongjoong chuckled, a mix of amusement and affection in his eyes as he gently petted the cat. “I can definitely picture you being mischievous now,” he cooed, lightly tapping the tip of Pompidou’s nose with his index finger.

An idea sparked in your mind. You quickly pulled out your phone, taking a few steps back to capture the candid moment. Hongjoong, caught in the act of playing with the cat, looked both charming and endearing. You snapped a photo, giggling softly to yourself before putting your phone away.

“You have a kind soul,” you whispered, almost to yourself, as you observed Hongjoong. “That must be why Pompidou likes you.”

As if on cue, the cat suddenly jumped down from Hongjoong’s arms and trotted towards the entrance of your apartment building. Hongjoong watched the feline’s departure with a soft smile, then turned back to you.

“It looks like it’s time for you to go inside,” he said gently, the warmth in his voice unmistakable.

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you prepared to bid him farewell. “Thank you for tonight, Hongjoong. It was really wonderful. And thank you for letting me help out with your designs. It was a great way to distract myself from everything that’s been going on,” you said sincerely, your voice filled with genuine appreciation. “I’ll definitely make sure to return the favor.”

He shook his head, a light chuckle escaping his lips. “You don’t need to. Your presence is enough for me,” he said, then quickly added, waving his hands as if to clarify, “I mean, you’re a really great friend. It’s nice to have you around.”

The term “great friend” resonated with you, touching a part of your heart that hadn’t felt such warmth in a long time. You smiled softly, a heartfelt look in your eyes. “I’m glad you think of me that way,” you replied, your voice soft and sincere.

With that, you exchanged goodbyes, Hongjoong standing by until you safely entered your building. As the door closed behind you, you watched from the lobby as he walked back to his car, giving you one last wave before driving away. You stood there for a moment, reflecting on the evening’s events and the unexpected bond you were forming with Hongjoong. The night had been more than just a distraction; it was a step towards something new and meaningful, leaving you with a warm, lingering feeling as you made your way up to your apartment.

Once you were back home, you quickly settled on the floor with your journal in hand, leaning your back against the bed. The quiet of your apartment contrasted with the eventful day you had, and you felt a comforting sense of calm wash over you. As you opened your journal, the blank pages seemed to invite you to pour out your thoughts and feelings. You began writing, your pen flowing across the paper.

The past few days have been really eventful, thanks to Hongjoong. At first, practicing the ins and outs of sewing was proving itself to be quite the struggle, but I was lucky enough for him to lend me a helping hand with zero judgment. Honestly, I still feel a little embarrassed over offering to help while being well aware I barely knew how a sewing machine operates... But anyway, when I got used to it, I wasted no time in helping him out with one of his designs for his upcoming collection for autumn. We finished it today, and I think it’s safe to say that it turned out great.

He insisted on treating me to a celebratory dinner tonight, and while I had initial hesitance since fancy places weren’t exactly my style, I think his presence helped me get more comfortable with it over the minutes we spent there. He said I was a great friend, too, and I have to say that it was really heartwarming. I can’t even count how many years have passed since the last time someone called me that...

But overall, I had a lot of fun today, and hopefully, I’ll continue to.

🪞 — lividstar.

[lividstar]

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎THE CITY OF LOVE

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Two: Unexpected Encounters

‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 8k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ You were now on your fifth job hunt for the week, and even though you were hoping for it to, for once, actually turn out to be a success, indifference spreads through you as the search concludes on a dead end once again. Just as you were about to head home, a sudden surprise catches up to you, nearly out of breath.

a/n: i should probably make a taglist for this... let me know if you want to be added :D

You’ve never really realized how hard it is to go through days without losing your mind when you’re unable to write your thoughts down, which is the only way you know how to keep your mind in check. At least until now that you’re on your fifth job hunt for the week, and you’re still met with nothing but polite rejections.

You felt like you were one risky step away from going insane. First off, you had no one to confide in regarding your frustrations—Madame Dupont once tried coaxing you into opening up but you refused, not wanting to bother her, no quote unquote friend of yours from Arcadia Bay kept in check with you after you moved countries, and most importantly, you don’t want your parents to know how much you’re struggling because then that would only do nothing but taint the independent imagery of you that you want them to keep for eternity.

Your journal had always been your only companion ever since a classmate of yours back in your days as a highschool student recommended it to you as a potential way to be able to express all the emotions you’ve been bottling up—you could no longer remember his name, but you hope he’s currently living his best life, wherever he is right now.

It all began one day when you were sat in the very back of the classroom, eyes shifting back and forth between focusing and losing its firm gaze as you did everything in your power not to let the different emotions in your heart combined into a thunderstorm escape from your ribs you’ve grown to refer to as what serves as the metal bars that keep your feelings caged and away from whatever was outside your little bubble. Your ears rang in a volume so insufferable you swore blood was nearly being pulled out from the inside, and you did your very best not to lose control of your body, because then, the repetitive sounds of you rapidly bouncing your feet on the concrete floor would draw everyone’s attention.

What’s worse was you had no idea what was happening to you. You’ve never spoken past a word to any of your classmates, and the only moments they were lucky enough to hear the sound of your voice was if the teacher would conduct an eenie-meenie to choose who would answer the complex question he had written on the board and you ended up being the (un)lucky winner of his personal lottery. You never speak unless spoken to, and perhaps that was why a few of your fellow schoolmates raised suspicions about you being mute—because no one ever really bothered to talk to you.

So then, you thought you were doing an exceptional job at trying to put a faltering mask on and act like you weren’t nearly losing your mind. No one knew you well enough back then to see right through you and be able to notice if there was anything off about your usual behavior—the counselor would occasionally be your confidant, but her words barely helped with anything. You can’t blame her for only taking up the job for the paycheck, but if that’s her only purpose, she might as well be good at her job, no?

Thankfully, right when the last thin string was about to snap and let you fall down at a rapid speed, the bells rang, signaling the end of the school hours for the day. You could still remember the fear you felt when everyone around you was already packing up their things and walking towards their own separated friend groups, while you remained sat, unable to move. The way you tried to place your hands on top of your desk for support to stand up, but they wouldn’t budge off your lap as if they were glued to your skin.

You were nearly trembling in fear, yet everything seemed to have been put to a halt the moment you heard the sound of a chair being pulled towards where you sat, and a hand less than a centimeter away from landing on your tense shoulders.

You couldn’t turn your head to see who it was, but given how the person sounded, you believed it was a male classmate of yours—you knew his name back then, but now? Not anymore. He was nice enough to attempt to comfort you, but not a word was brave enough to slip out of your lips. You were sure he had no negative intentions because all you knew of this boy back then was he was one of the nicest and tolerable ones in your highschool, so it wasn’t like you weren’t responding because you didn’t like him. It was more of a matter of not knowing how to.

When he was on his third sentence and you still couldn’t muster up a response, he drew the light touch of his hand off your shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, you were afraid he had gone tired of attempting, and you left a horrible impression on him. Just then, he asked a question you don’t believe you would’ve been able to expect even right now that you’re fully grown.

“Do you have a pen and a paper with you?”

You could only respond with as much as a short nod, and much to your surprise, your hand was no longer tense when you lifted it off your lap and lightly shoved it into your bag, searching for the objects he had requested for. After half a minute, you settled a blank piece of paper on your table, preventing it from flying away by placing a pen on top of it. What he said next was even more unexpected.

“Could you try to write down how you feel right now? Only if that’s okay with you.”

You were afraid of turning your head and letting him see right through you even further, so even if there was a hint of hesitance spreading all over you, you gathered enough courage to pick up the pen and do as he said.

I don’t know what to call what I’m feeling right now. I can’t get myself to calm down, and I feel like I’m one step away from having an outburst. I don’t know what to do.

Once you finished writing your answer down, you laid the tips of your fingers down on the paper’s surface, dragging it towards your right, where he sat. He leaned in to read what you had written, and for a moment, you were half-expecting him to either laugh at you or get weirded out, but instead, you were met with the sound of an understanding hum.

“How long have you been bottling up your emotions?”

You could still vividly remember the initial shock those words sent right through the very core of your heart. It was a simple question, but it was as if he was able to see right through you—a first. You picked up the pen once more, leaning in as well without realizing your faces were only a couple inches away from each other.

Forever? I just don’t know how to let it out in a way that doesn’t make me feel weird. I was never taught how to be expressive about my emotions.

“Have you ever thought about getting yourself a journal?” was what he asked, and you responded with a mere shake of your head. A hum of understanding was heard from him once more, before he told you to stay still in your seat and wait for him. The moment he came back, there was a notebook with a vintage pattern of pink roses in his hands.

This time, your confusion was uplifted enough to fully turn your head to him. Right now, looking back at it, the memory provided a clear vision of everything except for his face—it was blurred, something you could no longer remember. But when you were in that very moment, you swear you nearly compared him to the clear view of the sunset you were granted with thanks to your seat’s position in class.

“Here. From now on, you can use this as your personal journal. When you can’t figure out what you’re feeling, or if you need to let it all out, the only thing you have to do is pull this out along with a pen, and from then on, you can start writing away. Let yourself get lost in your own world.”

You could still remember how you both found yourselves staring into each other’s eyes at least a little longer than you were supposed to, until he took it upon himself to be the one to break it first. He stood up, pulling the chair he sat himself on back to its rightful place, and began packing his things. All you could do that moment was remain in your seat, with a gaze refusing to let him go.

When he was about to leave the classroom, he turned his head back once more, sending a soft smile and a bid of farewell before heading out. Only then when you were left all by yourself did you realize everyone else had already gone home, and the whole time he was talking to you, you were both alone together.

He was the only fleeting memory of your highschool days that remains stuck with you even until now.

You stared blankly at your ceiling, letting yourself get lost in the serene calmness of the evening. Not only did you value your journal because it contained every single thought of yours that you would never consider telling a soul, but also because of the history it holds. You decided to re-customize it and turn it into a plain, pitch black over the years, but its value remains the same.

You don’t remember anything about him anymore, and your notebook was the only thing that served as a bridge between the chasm that separates both of you. It’s funny, because you doubt that moment was anything but a normal occurence to him. If only he knew he was the one who did the kickstart to your changes in life. Sighing, you closed your eyes, with the hope that your job search will finally come to a successful conclusion tomorrow.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Paris, the city was still young—full of life and vibrantly shining, a stark contrast to the quiet night sky above. There in a restaurant sat Seonghwa across Hongjoong, who had completely lost himself in sketching designs on a new notebook he bought just a day ago.

“You’re really serious about starting all over again with your designs?” Seonghwa tilted his head, leaning forward to see what Hongjoong was working on, only for him to get told off.

“Do I look like I have any other choice? It’s been nearly a week, Seonghwa. We’ve tried everything we can to look for it. Even the café’s workers weren’t able to provide helpful insight,” Hongjoong said, brows furrowed in focus and precision as he tried to come up with new designs.

Seonghwa leaned back, crossing his arms. “Has it ever crossed your mind that I took you here because I wanted you to take a break from your work, and not to make you stress over your work even more?”

“A break can wait. Fashion week can’t. I’ll be fine,” Hongjoong brushed Seonghwa off. After five seconds of Seonghwa not responding, Hongjoong sighed in defeat, closing his notebook and turning his attention back to the man who sat across the table. “Look, why don’t you just let me be, and I’ll give you all the time in the world to look for the girl you saw at the bus stop?”

“Why don’t you give yourself all the time in the world to take a break just once?”

Hongjoong slumped his shoulders, hunched over in his seat. “I get that you care about my well-being, but I really don’t have time for that right now.”

“You never have time for a break, Hongjoong,” Seonghwa countered, taking the notebook from Hongjoong before he could react. Opening it, he was met with exactly what he expected—a blank page with blurry lines from erasure. “See? You can’t use your imagination to its fullest if your mind’s a total mess.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious,” Hongjoong muttered, avoiding Seonghwa’s gaze. “You know how much that sketchbook means to me, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa ran his fingers through his hair. “I know. I know that very well, Hongjoong. But that’s not the point. If you’re planning on settling on making new designs until you get your sketchbook back, then you have to at least clear your mind first so you’ll actually be able to come up with ideas.”

“And how do you suggest I do that?” Hongjoong asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Take a stroll around the city, maybe? It’s a good way to unwind,” Seonghwa suggested, shrugging his shoulders. “A recommendable time period to do that is during the hours of dusk till dawn.”

“Like… all by myself?” Hongjoong said, confused. “You’re saying all I have to do is walk around the city alone late at night, and it’ll magically lift my frustration off of me? Is there a hidden ulterior motive behind this?”

“If I wanted you dead, I would’ve already taken action upon it years ago, Hongjoong.” Seonghwa rolled his eyes. “And no, going alone isn’t necessary. You could always, you know… look for a companion—”

“I let you have your moment to convince me into taking a break and the next thing I know is you’re taking advantage of it by trying to bring up my relationship status,” Hongjoong cut him off, groaning in frustration.

“Oh, come on, you can’t keep being like that forever!” Seonghwa threw his hands up in the air. “You’re less than 10 years away from reaching your 30’s and you’re still insisting on being single?”

“Don’t look at me like that. You know why I prefer things to stay this way,” Hongjoong mumbled, gazing outside the window, a look of sorrow starting to form in his eyes.

Seonghwa sighed. “Look, I know you’re still hung up on her, but it’s been years, Hongjoong. She’s not coming back. You need to move on, you know…?”

“Easier said than done, Seonghwa.”

“What happened to her, anyway?” Seonghwa asked, his tone growing softer. “You never told me much about it.”

“I don’t know. It was like she was there, then the next moment, she wasn’t. She disappeared without a trace, without a word, not even a call, a letter—nothing. It was like she was nothing but a fleeting dream,” Hongjoong recalled, the pain in his tone evident.

Seonghwa pursed his lips, feeling guilty for bringing the situation up. Hongjoong was quick to notice, though, making him wave Seonghwa off. “Don’t feel bad for asking about it.”

Silence engulfed both of them, less of the awkward kind and more melancholic. After what felt like an eternity, Seonghwa finally spoke up, steering the conversation back into the main topic.

“I know you can’t bring yourself to be on the same page as I am, but trust me, taking a stroll works really well. I’ve done it a lot of times already.” Seonghwa leaned forward, trying to persuade Hongjoong. “Try it out sometime? It’s totally fine if you want to do it alone, of course.”

Hongjoong sighed in defeat. “Fine, I’ll try if I have time. If it turns out to be a huge failure, I’m no longer bringing myself to trust your words.”

“No need to threaten me. I can already tell it’ll turn out well.”

—

The sound of the birds singing their melodies as they sat by the tree in front of your window made your eyes flutter open, yet they closed shut just as quick the moment you turned over and nearly got blinded by the thin ray of sunlight passing through the tiny gap between your curtains. You rubbed your eyes, taking a moment before opening them once more. Once you were certain you were fully conscious, you sat up, stretching your arms after leaning back on your headboard. You looked at the digital clock you had placed on your bedside table, and it read: 8:01 AM. You sighed softly.

Another day for a job hunt with a 0.1% chance of ending on a good note.

You pulled the blankets draped over your figure off, letting your feet land softly on the floor as you stood up, this time stretching your entire body. You turned back to your bed, tidying it up before anything else. Once you were satisfied with the outcome, you made your way towards the bathroom, taking a minute to let your appearance sink in. There were light bags under your eyes, and you’re certain it wouldn’t take a stranger more than a single look to notice how tired you look. Sighing, you stepped inside the shower and took your clothes off, letting yourself melt away along with the warm drops of water that slid down on the surface of your skin.

After a thorough and refreshing shower, you dry off and wrap yourself in a soft, fluffy towel. The warmth of the shower water lingers on your skin, a small comfort in the face of the day's impending challenges. You take a moment to pamper yourself, applying a light moisturizer to keep your skin feeling smooth and hydrated. With each methodical step, you focus on maintaining a sense of calmness, trying to stave off the creeping anxiety of another potentially fruitless day.

Next, you move to your bedroom and open the closet. The selection is limited, a reflection of your dwindling budget, but you choose an outfit that makes you feel both comfortable and confident. You pull out a soft, cream-colored blouse made of a lightweight, breathable fabric. The blouse has delicate lace trim along the cuffs and neckline, giving it a touch of elegance. You pair it with a light, flowing skirt in a pastel floral pattern that falls just below your knees that sways gently with each movement.

You complete the ensemble with a pair of simple ballet flats in a matching cream shade. They are worn but still manage to look stylish, providing the comfort needed for a day spent navigating the streets of Paris. As a final touch, you choose a dainty gold necklace with a small pendant that rests gently against your collarbone, a gift from your grandmother that always brings you a sense of comfort and connection to home.

Standing before the mirror, you take a moment to brush your hair, allowing it to fall naturally around your shoulders. You apply a light touch of makeup—just enough to brighten your features and hide the evidence of your restless nights. Once you’re done, you give yourself a final, encouraging smile in the mirror, hoping that today will bring better luck.

Once dressed and ready, you head to the kitchen to make breakfast. Opening the cupboard, you’re greeted by the sight of only three cups of ramen left, a stark reminder of your dire financial situation. Your stomach twists with a mix of hunger and anxiety as you consider your options. You can’t keep surviving on instant noodles; you need to find a job soon, or you’ll risk running out of even the most basic supplies.

You take one of the cups of ramen and prepare it, boiling water and pouring it into the cup. As you wait for the noodles to soften, you lean against the counter, staring out of the small window above the sink. The morning light filters in, casting a soft glow over the modest kitchen. Despite the beauty of the Parisian morning, you can’t help but feel like the anchor of your struggles is weighing you down.

With breakfast ready, you sit at the small table in the corner of your kitchen. The steam rises from the cup of ramen, and you take a moment to appreciate the warmth it brings. As you eat, you let your mind wander, thinking about the places you’ll visit today in your job search, the people you’ll meet, and the potential opportunities that might arise.

Once you finish eating and begin cleaning up the dining table, a thought strikes you: the memory of the foreign, fancier part of the city you accidentally stumbled upon on your first day of job hunting. You hadn’t fully explored it, and given its apparent high status, it seemed like a promising place to search for employment. The only problem was you didn’t remember exactly how you got there.

Determined to try your luck, you step out of your apartment and begin your journey. Just as you reach the end of the hallway, you cross paths with Madame Dupont. Her kind eyes light up when she sees you, and she greets you with a warm smile.

“Bonjour, my dear! How is the job search going?” she asks, her voice filled with genuine concern.

You return her smile, doing your best to maintain a positive facade. “Bonjour, Madame Dupont. It’s been challenging, but I’m not giving up. Actually, I was planning to head to a specific part of the city today, but I’m not sure how to get there. I only stumbled upon it by accident the first time.”

Madame Dupont raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? Can you describe it for me?”

You nod, taking a moment to recall the details. “It’s a very elegant area, with wide streets lined with high-end boutiques and cafes. The buildings are all beautifully maintained, with ornate facades and large windows. There’s a small park with a fountain in the center, and I remember seeing people dressed quite fashionably, as if it’s a place frequented by those of a higher status.”

Madame Dupont’s face brightens with recognition. “Ah, I know exactly where you mean! That’s the Rue de la Paix district. It’s indeed a very prestigious part of the city. To get there, you’ll want to take the metro to the Opéra station, then it’s just a short walk down the avenue. You can’t miss it.”

Relief floods through you, and you offer her a grateful smile. “Thank you so much, Madame Dupont. That really means a lot.”

She pats your arm gently. “Of course, my dear. I’m sure you’ll find something today. Good luck, and don’t hesitate to reach out if you need anything.”

With renewed determination, you bid her farewell and make your way to the metro station. Following Madame Dupont’s directions, you navigate the bustling underground system with ease, boarding the train that will take you to the Opéra station. As the train glides through the city, you allow yourself to relax, the rhythmic clattering of the wheels providing a calming backdrop to your thoughts.

When the train pulls into the Opéra station, you step off and follow the signs to the exit. Emerging onto the street, you’re greeted by the sight of the magnificent Palais Garnier opera house, its grand architecture a stunning example of the city’s rich cultural heritage. You take a moment to admire the building before setting off down the avenue as Madame Dupont instructed.

The walk to Rue de la Paix is short and pleasant. The wide boulevard is lined with luxurious boutiques and elegant cafes, just as you remembered. The buildings are indeed beautifully maintained, with their ornate facades and large windows creating an air of sophistication and wealth. The small park with its charming fountain serves as a tranquil oasis amidst the streets.

As you take in the sights and sounds of the district, you can’t help but feel a sense of optimism. The people here are well-dressed and exude an aura of confidence and success. If you could manage to land a job in this area, it would undoubtedly open many doors for you.

With this thought in mind, you begin your search. You walk into several boutiques and cafes, inquiring about job openings and handing out your resume. Each rejection stings a little less, fueled by the hope that this district holds the key to your future success. You remind yourself to keep pushing forward, knowing that persistence is your greatest ally in this journey.

Well, even if you had your hopes up high, it’s still just as you expected.

Hours passed, and the sun was now setting, casting a golden hue over the picturesque streets of Rue de la Paix. You decided to head to the small park you’d come across earlier, seeking solace in its tranquil atmosphere. Finding an empty bench, you sat down, setting your resume on your lap and letting out a heavy sigh.

The weight of the day was heavy, and despite your determination, a sense of defeat began to creep in. As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, you reflected on the countless rejections you had faced today. Your heart ached with a familiar loneliness, a gnawing feeling that perhaps you were out of place in this glamorous part of the city. Each boutique and cafe you’d walked into had left you with a bittersweet taste of missed opportunities and the distant dream of success.

You couldn’t help but feel a little envious of the people around you, who seemed to glide effortlessly through their days, basking in the luxury and elegance of their surroundings. Your mind wandered back to the comfort of your journal, the one thing that had always been a steady companion through your struggles. But even that solace was out of reach now, leaving you feeling more vulnerable than ever.

Your thoughts spiraled, questioning your decision to move to Paris, to leave behind the familiarity of Arcadia Bay for a city that seemed to hold endless challenges. Doubts began to creep in, whispering that perhaps you weren’t cut out for this life, that the independent image you wanted to maintain for your parents was slipping through your fingers.

You sighed in defeat, thinking that maybe today wasn’t your luckiest day. Standing up, you were about to leave the park and head back to your apartment when you heard rapid footsteps behind you.

“Wait!”

You turned your head around, met with the sight of a seemingly familiar-looking man—the one you saw on the other side of the road the day you accidentally stumbled upon this area of Paris. You raised both your eyebrows, waiting for him to draw nearer to see if he was referring to you when he said to wait. When he was finally standing in front of you, catching his breath, your suspicions were confirmed.

“Sorry, I just—” he managed to say between ragged breaths, a hand on his heart as he tried to settle himself down. Looking at him blankly, you took out a bottle of water from your bag and handed it to him. He looked at you with both surprise and confusion.

“I think you need it,” you said, your voice calm and warm despite the exhaustion you felt.

He nodded, taking the bottle gratefully. “Thank you,” he said before chugging the water and then throwing the empty bottle in a nearby bin. He turned back to you, a mixture of relief and curiosity in his eyes. “Thanks again. I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

You offered him a small smile. “It’s no problem. But… what do you mean? Do we know each other?”

He chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “Not exactly. I saw you the other day, across the road. I work around here, and I’ve been meaning to approach you. I’m Seonghwa, by the way.”

You smiled, your curiosity piqued. “Nice to meet you, Seonghwa. What made you want to approach me?”

Seonghwa’s expression turned serious, though his demeanor remained friendly. “I’m a talent scout, specifically for models. I work with a fashion designer who’s always on the lookout for fresh faces. When I saw you, something about you stood out. You have a unique presence that I think could really shine in the industry.”

You blinked, taken aback by his words. “Oh, a model? I’ve never thought about that before…”

He smiled, sensing your hesitation. “I understand it might be a lot to take in, but I really believe you have potential. We’re actually holding an open casting soon, and I’d love for you to come by and give it a shot. No pressure, of course.”

You looked down, considering his words. It seemed like an unexpected opportunity, something that could change the course of your current struggle. “I appreciate the offer. It’s just… I’m not sure if I’m cut out for that world.”

Seonghwa nodded, his gaze reassuring. “I get it. But sometimes, the best opportunities come from stepping out of our comfort zones. You never know until you try.”

His words resonated with you, and you found yourself nodding slowly. “Alright, I’ll think about it. Thank you for the offer, Seonghwa.”

He smiled warmly. “That’s all I can ask. Here’s my card. Feel free to reach out if you have any questions or if you decide to give it a go.”

Seonghwa’s gaze was warm and sincere as he continued, shifting the conversation into something more casual. “Are you new here?”

You smiled, sheepishly rubbing the back of your neck. “Was it that obvious?”

Seonghwa waved you off. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I just haven’t seen you around before. When did you arrive here, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Just a week ago. I’ve been on a job hunt since then, so that’s why I went to this part of the city,” you explained. “I’m still trying to get comfortable with my surroundings, though.”

He nodded in understanding. “Paris can be pretty overwhelming. I remember feeling lost when I first moved here. But sometimes, it’s the unplanned encounters that make the journey worthwhile.”

You smiled, appreciating his attempt to make you feel at ease. “Yeah, it’s definitely been an adjustment. Every corner of this city feels like it has a story, and I’m just trying to find my place in it.”

Seonghwa tucked a stray strand of his hair behind his ear, his posture relaxed. “It’s a process, but you’ll get there. You seem like someone who’s determined and resourceful. That’s half the battle won already.”

His words were reassuring, and you felt a small smile forming on your lips. “Thanks. That means a lot. I guess I just need to keep pushing forward.”

He nodded. “Exactly. And about the modeling—no need to decide right away. Take your time. If it’s something you’re curious about, just give me a call. Sometimes, the most unexpected paths can lead to the most rewarding experiences.”

You looked at him, feeling a genuine connection. “I’ll definitely think about it.”

As you both stood there, the park’s tranquility wrapping around you, it felt like the beginning of something new. You realized that while today hadn’t gone as planned, it had led to an encounter that could open doors you hadn’t even considered.

“Take care,” Seonghwa said, giving you a final nod before turning to leave.

“You too,” you replied, watching him walk away, feeling a newfound sense of possibility.

As you made your way back to your apartment, you retraced the path you had taken to Rue de la Paix, feeling a mix of exhaustion and a glimmer of hope. The bustling streets began to quiet down as the day transitioned into evening, the soft hum of the city’s nightlife starting to emerge. You navigated the narrow alleys and charming boulevards, the flickering streetlights casting long shadows on the cobblestones.

The route took you past the quaint cafes where locals and tourists alike were enjoying their evening meals, and through the elegant shopping district, now closing down for the night. You glanced at the beautifully dressed windows, a reminder of the world you were trying to break into. With each step, you felt the day’s events replaying in your mind, from the polite rejections to the unexpected encounter with Seonghwa.

Finally, you turned the corner onto your street, the familiar sight of your apartment building coming into view. As you approached, you noticed Madame Dupont standing outside, engaged in a lively conversation with another tenant. Her presence was a comforting constant in your new life here.

When she saw you, Madame Dupont’s face lit up with a warm smile. “Was it a success?” she asked, her voice filled with genuine curiosity and concern.

You looked down at the business card in your hands, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Guess we have yet to find out, Madame Dupont.”

With a nod and a reassuring smile from her, you made your way inside, feeling a sense of cautious optimism about what tomorrow might bring.

Seonghwa then arrives at Hongjoong’s penthouse, and as he steps inside, the luxurious space contrasts starkly with the simple park where he met you earlier.

Hongjoong, who had been lounging in his living room with a book, looked up, his expression a mix of curiosity and mild irritation. “Care to tell me how good this news you have for me is? Just so that I know my alone time was interrupted for a good cause.”

Seonghwa grinned, the excitement clear in his eyes. “Oh, definitely worth it. You’re going to want to hear this.” He took a seat opposite Hongjoong and began to recount the entire encounter.

“So, remember the girl I told you about? I was at the park today when I saw her. She wasn’t just sitting there, she was actually about to leave. I noticed her standing up from one of the benches, looking like she was about to head home. I couldn’t let the chance slip by, so I ran towards her, calling out for her to wait.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “You… ran? Like, ran after her?” he said, mildly appalled.

Seonghwa nodded, a bit sheepishly. “Uh, yeah. I mean, I must have looked a bit crazy, but I didn’t want to miss the opportunity. When she turned around, she looked a bit surprised, but there was this unique energy she held with her when I finally got to stand face to face with her. She has this presence—warm but with a sort of quiet strength. It’s hard to describe, like it’s something you’re either bound to feel or not.”

Hongjoong leaned forward, listening intently. “So? What did you say to her?”

Seonghwa smiled, remembering the encounter vividly. “I was a bit out of breath when I reached her, so the first thing she did was hand me a bottle of water from her bag. It was such a small gesture, but it felt genuine. I thanked her and explained who I was, and why I had run after her.”

He continued. “She was polite, a bit reserved, but there was this genuine interest in her eyes. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone; she was just herself. We chatted a bit about how she ended up in this part of the city. She told me about her struggles finding a job, and how she had hoped to find something in Rue de la Paix.”

Hongjoong nodded slowly, taking in Seonghwa’s words. “So she is new. What was your first impression of her?”

“Up close, she’s even more striking—there’s something about her eyes, they’re so expressive. She has this natural elegance that I think would be perfect for our brand. Despite her situation, she seemed hopeful, determined. She has this warmth about her that I think would resonate well with people.”

Hongjoong, though still skeptical, was intrigued. “Did you manage to get her name?”

Seonghwa winced slightly. “Oh. Well, no, unfortunately. But I did give her my card, and I tried to persuade her to consider coming to our casting. I think I made a good impression. She seemed interested, even if she was a bit unsure. I’m positive she’ll consider it.”

Hongjoong sighed, still not entirely convinced but trusting Seonghwa’s judgment. “Alright, I’ll take your word for it. But next time, try to get a name.”

Seonghwa smiled, relieved. “Will do. I really think she could be the fresh face we’ve been looking for.”

You, on the other hand, had lost count of how many times you had rolled around in bed. Sleep eluded you, and it felt strange because usually, it was easy for you to get tired and your body would yearn for moments of slumber. Sighing, you opened your eyes and sat up, leaning against the headboard. Reaching over to the bedside table, you grabbed your phone, the bright light nearly blinding you. Squinting, you quickly lowered the brightness to the lowest level.

Once the glare was manageable, you found yourself staring blankly at your lockscreen—a photo of Arcadia Bay’s lighthouse. You had taken the picture on the day you got fired from your job at a diner because the owner found out you were the one secretly eating the ingredients. It had been a horrible day—not because you lost yet another job, but because you really liked the way their potatoes tasted. You remembered walking home with your shoulders hunched over, feeling dejected. But then, the lighthouse came into view, perfectly highlighted by the golden hour. You couldn’t resist capturing the serene moment, and it became your lockscreen ever since. Maybe someday, once you’re properly settled, it would be replaced by a photo of the Eiffel Tower lit up at night.

Snapping out of your reverie, you unlocked your phone and began browsing the internet to pass the time. You scrolled through social media, coming across a variety of random posts and videos. There were adorable clips of cats doing silly things, travel vlogs showcasing beautiful destinations, and motivational quotes superimposed on scenic backgrounds. You watched a video of a chef demonstrating how to make a perfect soufflé, then moved on to a compilation of the vertigo effect being used in movie scenes.

As you continued your aimless scrolling, an article title caught your eye: ”Ever wondered why you can’t sleep at night?” Intrigued, you clicked on the link. The article opened with a brief introduction about how common sleep troubles are and how they can be influenced by various factors. It discussed the usual suspects: stress, diet, lack of exercise, and an irregular sleep schedule.

You found yourself nodding along as you read, thinking about how some of these reasons might apply to you. The article elaborated on how stress from major life changes, like moving to a new city and job hunting, could wreak havoc on your sleep patterns. It mentioned how certain foods, especially those high in sugar or caffeine, could make it harder to fall asleep.

The next section delved into the impact of screen time. The article explained that exposure to blue light from phones, tablets, and computers could interfere with your body’s natural circadian rhythm. Blue light suppresses the production of melatonin, the hormone that regulates sleep, making it harder for you to fall asleep at a reasonable hour. You glanced at your phone, feeling a twinge of guilt but continued reading.

The article also touched on the importance of creating a comfortable sleeping environment. It emphasized the need for a cool, dark, and quiet room to foster better sleep. It suggested using blackout curtains, earplugs, or a white noise machine to eliminate distractions. You made a mental note to consider some of these adjustments, thinking about how you could improve your current setup.

Then, as you scrolled deeper into the article, you reached a section that listed possible reasons for not being able to sleep at night. The usual reasons were there: too much screen time before bed, an uncomfortable sleeping environment, underlying health issues, and more. But it was the last reason that truly caught your attention: “Someone may be thinking of you.”

Intrigued, you read further. The article explained that some people believe in the concept of a psychic connection, where thoughts and feelings can be transferred between individuals, especially those who share a close bond. It suggested that if someone is thinking intensely about you, it could create an energetic disturbance that might affect your sleep.

The article elaborated further: “This idea, although seemingly far-fetched to many, has roots in various cultural and spiritual beliefs. The notion is that when someone thinks about you intensely, their mental energy can reach out across distances, subtly impacting your own energy field. This might manifest as restlessness, sudden thoughts of the person, or difficulty in falling asleep.”

You couldn’t help but wonder if there was any truth to this. The article continued to delve into anecdotal evidence and testimonials from people who claimed to have experienced this phenomenon. There were stories of individuals who felt a sudden, unexplainable urge to contact someone, only to find out that the person had been thinking of them at that very moment. Other accounts described how people would dream of someone they hadn’t seen in years, only to receive a message from that person the next day.

The article suggested that this psychic connection could be stronger between people who share a deep emotional bond, such as family members, close friends, or romantic partners. It posited that these connections might be more prevalent during times of emotional intensity or major life changes, when thoughts and feelings are more powerful and focused.

As you pondered this notion, you thought back to the day’s events and the unexpected encounter with Seonghwa. Could it be possible that his thoughts were reaching out to you in some way? The article mentioned that sometimes, when someone is intensely focused on you, their thoughts could reach you, creating a sense of connection or unease. You considered the possibility that Seonghwa’s genuine interest and focus on you might be the reason for your restlessness. Or was it caused by an entirely different person?

Nevertheless, since you were already thinking of Seonghwa, your mind eventually drifted to the card he had given you. You reached over to your bedside table and picked it up, turning it over in your hands. The simple, elegant card had Seonghwa’s name and phone number neatly printed. You traced the embossed letters with your thumb, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety.

You thought back to your encounter with Seonghwa in the park. The way he had approached you, breathless and earnest, was still vivid in your mind. His genuine interest in you had been flattering, but also overwhelming. You had never seriously considered a career in fashion or modeling before. Sure, you had dabbled in amateur photography and enjoyed dressing up for special occasions solely for the fun it provides, but could you really make a living out of it?

Your thoughts spiraled as you weighed the pros and cons. On one hand, Seonghwa seemed convinced that you had the potential to succeed. His confidence was infectious, and you couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope. A career in fashion could bring about the major change you had always longed for. It would be a chance to reinvent yourself, to step out of the shadow of your past failures and truly shine.

The prospect of entering the world of fashion was incredibly appealing. You had always admired the creativity and artistry behind it. Being a part of this vibrant industry could open doors you had never even dreamed of. The connections, the experiences, the opportunity to travel and meet new people—it was all so enticing.

But then, doubts began to creep in. What if you weren’t cut out for the world of fashion? It was a fiercely competitive industry, and you had no formal training or experience. You imagined the rigorous casting calls, the endless critiques, and the constant pressure to maintain a certain image. Could you handle that kind of scrutiny? You had always been more comfortable blending into the background, avoiding the spotlight. Modeling would require you to be confident, outgoing, and resilient—all traits you weren’t sure you possessed.

You also considered the practicalities. How would you balance a demanding career with your other responsibilities? Would you have enough time and energy to devote to your passion projects and personal life? The thought of juggling multiple commitments was daunting.

There was also the fear of failure. What if you took the plunge and it didn’t work out? The fashion industry was notorious for its fickleness. One moment you could be in demand, and the next, forgotten. You had already experienced your fair share of setbacks and disappointments. Could you handle another one? The idea of putting yourself out there, only to be rejected, was terrifying.

As you pondered these questions, your mind drifted to the potential impact on your personal life. Moving to Paris had been a major step in seeking a fresh start. You had hoped to leave behind the suffocating familiarity of your hometown and create new memories. But diving into the fashion world might mean sacrificing some of the simplicity and tranquility you had been seeking.

On the other hand, this opportunity could be the very change you needed. It might be the catalyst that propels you toward a brighter future. You had always believed in taking risks and embracing new experiences. Maybe this was your chance to prove to yourself that you were capable of more than you ever imagined.

You thought about the kind of person you wanted to become. You envisioned yourself walking down the streets of Paris with confidence, attending glamorous events, and working on creative projects that inspired you. This was your chance to step out of your comfort zone and embrace a new chapter.

You also considered the people you might meet along the way. Fashion was a dynamic and diverse industry, filled with individuals from all walks of life. You could form connections with like-minded creatives, learn from seasoned professionals, and perhaps even find a mentor who could guide you on your journey.

Yet there was the reality of the unknown. Despite Seonghwa’s assurance, there was no guarantee that you would succeed. The fashion world was unpredictable, and you had to be prepared for the highs and lows. You wondered if you had the resilience to bounce back from setbacks and keep pushing forward.

But then you remember that you’ve been on your fifth job hunt for the week now and you’re still empty-handed. You can’t let yourself stay like this any longer—unless you want to starve and survive on ramen noodles for the rest of your life. Sure, you could ring up your parents if you were ever to come to that point, but that would defeat the whole purpose of proving to them that you’re brave enough to handle yourself, right? You wanted to show them, and yourself, that you could make it on your own in this new city. This was supposed to be your fresh start, your chance to reinvent yourself and find success on your own terms.

You sighed, feeling the weight of your situation. How long could you continue like this, barely scraping by, constantly worrying about where your next meal would come from or if you’d be able to pay rent next month? The thought of another week of rejections was almost too much to bear. You needed something to change, something big, something that would turn your luck around.

With a deep breath, you opened your phone once more, staring at the number written on Seonghwa’s card. The decision felt monumental, as if this single call could be the turning point you desperately needed. After a moment of hesitation, you dialed the number. It rang once, twice, three times. Just as you were about to hang up, a groggy voice answered, “Hello?” You felt a pang of guilt, realizing you may have woken him up.

But you couldn’t back down now. This was too important. Gathering your courage, you spoke, “Hi, Seonghwa? It’s me—the girl from Rue de la Paix. I’m sorry for calling so late, but... could you tell me more about the casting?”

🪞 — lividstar.

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Seven: Resolve

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 12.1k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ Seonghwa invites you to the serene local park where he delivers the exciting news that you’ve secured the modeling job, marking a significant step forward in your new life in Paris. However, as you bask in the joy of this achievement, a nagging concern about Hongjoong’s sketchbook lingers in your mind. By the time you get your first modeling gig, you form a plan to return it to him on the very same day, but the uncertainty of how he will react keeps you on edge. Could things possibly get any worse than they already are?

a/n: so sorry for the long wait (⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠) i’ve been going through a major writer’s block lately (and i’m also really busy with my studies) but luckily i managed to finish this chapter before completely losing motivation again 😅 i’d love to have some feedback! <3

tags: @beabatiny

You were busy preparing breakfast for yourself—this time choosing to make an actual meal. You had finally caved in and decided to take a little portion from your savings instead of just settling for a pack of ramen. You decided you didn’t want to jeopardize your health with your terrible dietary choices. The aroma of sizzling eggs and freshly toasted bread filled the small kitchen, creating a cozy, inviting atmosphere.

In the background, the record player your mother had insisted you take with you to Paris was spinning an old vinyl you had secretly taken from your father back in Arcadia Bay. The familiar, nostalgic notes of “La Vie En Rose” filled the room, and you couldn’t help but hum softly to the melody, feeling a bittersweet connection to home. While your hometown wasn’t exactly filled with memories as lighthearted as a rainbow after a thunderstorm, there was a little portion of them that you deemed heartwarming enough to remember—such as this.

Just as you were about to turn off the stove, your phone rang, cutting through the serene atmosphere. You frowned slightly, wondering who could be calling you this early. Wiping your hands on a towel, you picked up the phone and saw your mother’s name flashing on the screen. A sense of unease crept up your spine as you answered. “Mom? Is everything okay?” you asked, feeling a somewhat strange vibe in the air.

“Hi, sweetheart,” she greeted you, but there was a noticeable heaviness in her tone that immediately set off alarm bells in your mind. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I really need to talk to you.”

You quickly turned off the stove and paused the record player, giving her your full attention. Whenever those exact words came out of her mouth, it never meant anything positive, which was precisely why you were now standing near the edge. “What’s going on, Mom? You sound upset.”

There was a brief pause before she spoke again, her voice trembling slightly. “Your father and I... we're having a really hard time sustaining our financial needs. The café... it’s just not doing well. We’re getting fewer and fewer customers every day, and we’re really worried.”

Your heart sank. You knew how much the café meant to them, how hard they had worked to build it from the ground up. Years ago, when they decided you were grown enough to be able to take care of yourself, they flew to a different city, hoping to find a glimmer of hope amidst all the struggles you and your family have and still are going through. That glimmer of hope in question was deciding to open up their own small business.

“Mom… I’m so sorry to hear that. Is there something I can do to help? Anything, really,” you asked, desperation evident in your voice.

She sighed heavily. “I don’t know, dear. We’re trying everything we can, but we’re really scared it might take even longer to repay our debts.”

The mention of their debts made you feel a pang of guilt, especially knowing the major turning point in your life from years ago was the cause of it all. You knew they had taken on a lot to support you and your dreams, and now it felt like you were only adding to their burden. “This is all my fault… I’m so sorry. If I get the modeling job, I promise I’ll work so hard and earn so much that you and Dad will never have to worry again. You’ve already done so much for me. Let me repay you.”

“Sweetheart, you’re not a burden, and none of this is your fault,” she reassured you, her voice softening. “We’re proud of you, and we want you to succeed. Don’t think like that.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you choked out, “I just hate that you’re struggling because of me. Please, try not to stress too much. I’m going to make it. I’ll make sure of it.”

“I know you will, darling,” she said, trying to sound optimistic. “But remember, we’re always here for you, no matter what. We love you.”

“I love you too, Mom. Please take care of yourselves. I’ll call you soon,” you promised, your voice as quiet as the whisper of a passing breeze.

After saying goodbye, you ended the call and stood there, your phone still clutched tightly in your hand. The weight of her words embraced you heavily, making it hard to breathe. Slowly, you sank to the floor, your knees giving out as the tears you had been holding back finally fell.

You sat there, crying quietly, the phone pressed against your chest as you whispered to yourself, “This is all my fault.” The reality of your parents’ struggles and the pressure to succeed was a heavy weight to bear, leaving you feeling utterly helpless.

You had always felt like a burden, despite your parents’ constant reassurances that you weren’t. No matter how often they told you they were proud of you, that you were their greatest joy, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that you were the source of their struggles.

The thought that haunted you the most was the memory of that one terrible day when everything seemed to spiral out of control. If only things hadn’t gone so horribly wrong. If only the world had been a little kinder to your parents, maybe they wouldn’t be in this situation. Sometimes, in your darkest moments, you wondered if things would have been easier for them if you had never been born. These thoughts had followed you around for years, like a shadow you could never fully escape.

You thought you had left those feelings behind when you moved to Paris. For a month, you managed to keep those dark thoughts at bay, throwing yourself into your new life with a determination to succeed. But now, with the reminder of your parents’ struggles, the harsh reality came crawling back to bite you, and it stung.

You were as fragile as a piece of glass, easily shattered by the weight of your guilt and the pressure to make things right. The façade of strength you had built up over the years crumbled away, revealing the vulnerable, scared person beneath. Maybe you were never as strong as you had made yourself out to be after all.

While you sat there on the cold floor, clutching your phone and sobbing, you felt utterly alone and helpless. The weight of your parents’ sacrifices and the fear of letting them down was almost too much to bear. You wanted so desperately to make things better for them, to prove that their efforts and love weren’t in vain. But in this moment, all you could feel was the crushing weight of your own inadequacy. The dreams and aspirations that had once filled you with hope now seemed like distant, unattainable goals.

A message notification from your phone suddenly emerged, breaking the loud silence of your broken sobs. It was from Seonghwa.

Are you free later in the afternoon?

4PM, specifically.

Quickly wiping your tears, you typed out a reply, telling him that you were indeed free. His response was swift.

Alright, meet me at the park by then. I have something important to tell you.

Your heart dropped even more, worrying that maybe it was some sort of terrible news. But you just told him you’d make sure to be there on time.

Standing up, you wiped the remaining tears using the sleeve of your sweater. You put the record back on to distract yourself from your thoughts, humming to the melody once more as a way of pretending that things were as normal as they could be, as if the phone call with your mother hadn’t occurred at all. The familiar tune of “La Vie En Rose” filled the room, providing a temporary distraction to your troubled mind as you went back to preparing your breakfast.

Hours later, you found yourself walking around the park, searching for Seonghwa. Just as you took your phone out to ask where he was, you received a cryptic text message from him.

I see you.

This made you raise an eyebrow in amusement and maybe a little fear. You remembered how a few of your work colleagues from Arcadia Bay used to do this to you all the time when they invited you to hang out. Maybe not all memories from your hometown were horrible, after all.

After looking around once more, you spotted him sitting on a bench on the other side of the park, holding two cups of coffee in one hand while the other waved to you, a smile on his face. You hurriedly made your way over and greeted him, taking the offered cup of coffee and thanking him. “Thank you for this, Seonghwa,” you said, sitting down beside him. The warmth of the coffee seeped through the cup, comforting you slightly.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, his smile lingering but a hint of seriousness in his eyes.

Curiosity gnawed at you, and you finally asked, “So, why did you ask me to come here so suddenly?” There was a slight shift in his demeanor as he turned a little more serious. This always seemed to happen whenever he needed to talk about work matters. Noticing this, you straightened up in your seat, bracing yourself for what was about to come.

Seonghwa took a deep breath, setting his coffee down on the bench. “I wanted to talk to you about the agency, the callback, and the process of choosing which aspiring models deserve the spot they’re aiming for. It’s a rigorous process, as you know. The panel looks at various factors: potential, adaptability, and how well a person can embody the vision we have for our projects.”

You nodded, your hands clutching your coffee cup tighter. “Yes, I understand,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, as if you weren’t nearly losing your mind.

He continued, “The decision isn’t just about how you look in the photographs or how you perform in front of the camera. It’s about your story, your passion, and your determination. It’s about how well you can represent the brand and connect with the audience.”

You felt your heart pounding in your chest, each beat echoing louder in your ears. “So… did I… did I make it?” you asked, almost whispering.

Seonghwa paused for a moment, letting the tension build. Then, a smile broke out on his face. “Yes,” he said, his voice filled with warmth and pride. “You got in. You got the job.”

Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Relief, disbelief, and overwhelming joy mingled together, making you feel lightheaded. “I… What? I can’t believe it,” you stammered, tears welling up in your eyes again, but this time, joy was the cause behind it.

Seonghwa reached out and gently squeezed your hand. “Believe it,” he said softly. “You’ve worked so hard for this, and it’s finally paying off. We all saw something special in you.”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice. “Thank you, Seonghwa. Thank you for believing in me… for seeing something in me. I won’t let you down.”

He nodded, his eyes full of sincerity. “I know you won’t. This is just the beginning for you. There’s so much more ahead, and I can’t wait to see what you’ll achieve.”

The realization began to sink in, and you couldn't help but let out a small laugh, the sound of disbelief and happiness mixing together. “This feels like a dream,” you confessed, wiping away the tears that kept streaming down your face. “Just hours ago, I was breaking down, thinking about how I might never get this opportunity. And now… now, I have it.”

Seonghwa smiled warmly, his expression softening. “I understand. It's a lot to take in. But you deserve this. You’ve shown so much potential and passion. We all believe in you, and I’m so happy to have you on board.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling a wave of relief engulf you in a warm embrace, much like the setting sun. “I don’t even know how to express how grateful I am,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “This means everything to me. I promise I’ll give it my all, every single day.”

Seonghwa’s smile widened, his eyes twinkling with pride. “I have no doubt about that. You’re going to do amazing things. This is just the start of a wonderful journey.”

You felt a rush of gratitude, your heart swelling with warmth. “I can’t thank you enough, Seonghwa. For everything. For believing in me, for giving me this chance. It feels like a dream come true.”

Seonghwa chuckled softly. “Well, consider it a reality now. You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I think this is just the beginning of something truly amazing for you. You’ve got the talent, the drive, and the heart. That’s a powerful combination.”

You smiled, feeling a newfound sense of confidence. “Thank you, Seonghwa. Your words mean a lot to me. I'm going to work hard and make you proud.”

“I have no doubt about that,” he replied warmly. “And don't forget to enjoy the journey. It's going to be hectic, but it’s an incredible ride all the same.”

With a final, heartfelt thank you, you both stood up from the bench. Seonghwa gave you a reassuring pat on the back. “How about we go on a walk? You know, a small way to celebrate this moment,” he said with a grin. “You deserve it.”

You laughed, feeling lighter than you had in weeks. “I think I could use a little celebration,” you admitted.

As you both continued to walk around the park, sipping on your half-empty coffee cups, Seonghwa began to delve into the upcoming autumn fashion week. “So, autumn fashion week is a massive event for us,” he started, excitement evident in his voice. “It’s where we’ll be showcasing all the new collections for the season. Hongjoong has been working tirelessly on this for months.”

You listened intently, eager to hear every detail. Seonghwa continued, “The theme this year is ‘Enchantment of Dreams.’ Hongjoong wanted to capture the delicate beauty of autumn, but with a twist. Think of flowing fabrics, soft, muted colors, and a mix of natural elements with a bit of fantasy. It’s all about creating a dreamy, almost otherworldly atmosphere.”

He paused to let the theme sink in before moving on. “The types of designs we’re aiming for include long, flowing gowns made from light, airy fabrics like chiffon and silk. There are also more structured pieces that incorporate natural textures like leaves and flowers. Some of the designs even have intricate beadwork and embroidery that give them a mystical feel. Like they’re made for forest fairies, you know.”

You could picture the collection in your mind, a blend of nature and fantasy coming to life on the runway. “That sounds so beautiful,” you whispered, nearly to yourself, genuinely impressed.

Seonghwa smiled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “It really is. Hongjoong has such a clear vision for what he wants to present. He’s been sketching and refining these designs for months. Each piece is a work of art.”

Curiosity got the better of you, and you asked, “How’s the process going so far?”

Seonghwa let out a sigh. “Well, aside from successfully recruiting models that are suitable for the event’s theme, we’re stuck in a bit of a predicament.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. “What kind of predicament, exactly?”

Seonghwa’s expression turned more serious. “All of Hongjoong’s designs for fashion week were in his sketchbook, but the thing is, it’s missing. He still hasn’t found it.”

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. Not only did the sketchbook belong to Hongjoong, but now you were also finding out that all his designs for autumn fashion week were drafted in there? Your steps faltered, and you nearly stopped in your tracks, eyes wide with shock.

I have to return it to him. No, I definitely need to return it to him. I can’t let myself be further consumed by my fears when the consequences waiting ahead are far worse than losing my job. Keeping something of such immense value is not an option. There will be a huge price to pay, but it’s nothing compared to the damage that could be done if Hongjoong doesn’t get his sketchbook back in time for fashion week.

Seonghwa noticed your sudden silence and the far-off look in your eyes. “Are you alright?” he asked, concern lacing his tone.

You snapped back to reality, giving him a reassuring nod. “Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, I just got lost in my thoughts for a moment.”

Seonghwa seemed to accept your explanation and didn’t pry any further. “It’s understandable. There’s a lot to process,” he said kindly.

Trying to steer the conversation back, you asked, “How is Hongjoong holding up with the sketchbook missing? He must be really stressed.”

Seonghwa sighed again. “He’s definitely not in the best place right now. Losing that sketchbook was a huge blow. He’s been frantically trying to recreate the designs from memory, but it’s not the same. That sketchbook held his original inspirations and ideas.”

You could only imagine the pressure Hongjoong must be under. “That sounds incredibly tough. I hope he finds it soon.” I hope I can return it to him soon.

Seonghwa nodded. “We all do. Everyone’s been looking for it, hoping it will turn up before it's too late.”

As the conversation continued, you felt a growing sense of urgency. You knew what you had to do. Returning the sketchbook wasn’t just about doing the right thing—it was about helping someone in a desperate situation. The weight of that responsibility was heavy, but it also gave you a sense of clarity and purpose. You walked with Seonghwa a bit longer, discussing lighter topics and enjoying each other’s company. But in the back of your mind, the decision was made. You had to find a way to return the sketchbook to Hongjoong before it’s too late.

—

The Fashion Week was still quite a long road away, but Seonghwa insisted you should get your first exposure to the fashion world in advance. This way, you’d gain valuable experience and not feel too pressured by the time fashion week arrived. Today, you were set to do a photoshoot featuring Hongjoong’s recent collection released earlier this year. The collection’s theme was ‘The Beauty of Time,’ a blend of vintage charm and modern sophistication. It featured outfits with intricate lace details, flowing silk skirts, and structured blazers in rich jewel tones. The setting was an old Parisian mansion, with grand staircases and opulent chandeliers, perfectly matching the collection’s vibe.

You also had a mission to return the sketchbook to Hongjoong today—before your fear could fully consume you and let the day pass by as a heavy failure. You just had to find a way.

Now, you were at the photoshoot venue, being prepped by one of the stylists. She seemed a few years older than you, with a kind demeanor that put you at ease. As she worked on your hair and makeup, you two indulged in small talk. “Have you ever done something like this before?” she asked, her eyes reflecting genuine curiosity.

You softly shook your head. “No, this is an entirely foreign world to me.”

She seemed genuinely shocked. “Really? That’s hard to believe because you have the perfect features for a model. We’re lucky Seonghwa found you before any other agency did. Are you from around here?”

You smiled at her compliment, feeling a bit more at ease. “Thank you. And, no, I’m actually from a small town, not from Paris.”

“Ah, that explains it,” she said with a knowing nod. “Small towns tend to have restricted opportunities. Perhaps that’s why your well-deserved exposure is long overdue.” You nodded in agreement, appreciating her understanding. It was true, in a way. If Arcadia Bay wasn’t as small as it was, you probably never would’ve considered flying to Paris. Unfortunately, reality has a twisted knack for imposing challenges even when you’re not up for it.

After she finished styling you, she complimented your look and wished you luck. Just as she left the room, Seonghwa walked in, his eyes lighting up when he saw you. “Wow, you look elegant.”

You smiled, feeling a blush creep up your cheeks. You weren’t used to receiving compliments, much more being called elegant. “Thank you. The stylist was really nice.”

He raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Really? She isn’t usually talkative around models. She must’ve taken a liking to you.”

You chuckled softly, feeling a bit more confident. “Well, I’m glad. She made me feel comfortable.”

Seonghwa smiled, clearly pleased. “Good to hear. Now, let’s get you to the photoshoot.” You nodded, taking a deep breath as you followed him. You wore a stunning outfit from Hongjoong’s collection: a flowing, floor-length silk dress in a rich sapphire blue, with eye-catching lace details along the neckline and sleeves. The dress had a vintage yet modern feel, and it felt perfect for the theme.

The photoshoot began in earnest, with Wooyoung directing each shot. “Alright, let’s start with some classic poses by the grand staircase. Think regal, timeless elegance.”

You positioned yourself as instructed, feeling the weight of the dress and the grandeur of the setting. Each click of the camera seemed to bring a new wave of confidence.

“Beautiful,” Wooyoung praised, adjusting the lighting. “Now, let’s move to the balcony. I want you to look out as if you’re lost in thought, dreaming of something wonderful. Kinda like if you were Cinderella daydreaming about her Prince Charming.”

The example he set was… unexpected, to say the least, but much to your surprise, it actually did its wonders and helped you immerse yourself in the theme. You followed his guidance, leaning slightly against the ornate railing and gazing out over the mansion’s lush gardens. The soft afternoon light cast a golden glow over everything, enhancing the ethereal quality of the shoot.

Hours passed as you moved from one location to another within the mansion, each scene more breathtaking than the last. You posed by antique mirrors, draped yourself elegantly on velvet sofas, and even walked through a hallway lined with vintage portraits.

Finally, the photoshoot came to an end. Wooyoung clapped his hands together, beaming. “That’s a wrap! You did an amazing job.”

You smiled, feeling a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration. “Thank you. It was a wonderful experience.”

Seonghwa approached you, looking pleased. “You were fantastic. I’m really proud of you.” Just as you were about to respond, you saw Hongjoong entering the venue. Panic surged through you, and you quickly turned away, leaving behind a confused Seonghwa and heading straight for Wooyoung, who was busy checking his shots.

“Sorry to bother you, but is there a restroom around here?” you asked, trying to keep your voice calm.

He looked up in surprise, eventually nodding as he pointed towards a hallway. “Yep. Just down there, to the left.”

You quickly made your way towards the restroom, heart pounding. Once inside, you leaned your back against the wall, a hand on your chest as you sighed in relief. You didn’t know why you were so scared of crossing paths with Hongjoong. Maybe it was the guilt of not immediately returning his sketchbook to him the moment he introduced himself to you. Perhaps it was simply because you’ve always been a coward, just like when you were young.

Taking a moment to steady yourself, you walked towards the mirror to fix your appearance and wash your hands. Just as your hand held the doorknob to leave, you overheard two familiar voices coming from a corner nearby—Hongjoong and Seonghwa. You paused, listening intently.

Hongjoong let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing his temples. “While I’m glad things seem to be turning out well for her, I still can’t shake off the thought of permanently losing my sketchbook. We already have the perfect model for the collection, but this predicament outweighs the greener side of the grass.”

Seonghwa tried to reassure him. “Maybe it’ll come by when you least expect it.” But even he sounded doubtful. Comforting Hongjoong through blatant lies was just as bad as adding fuel to the fire. Their voices grew more inaudible with each second until you could no longer hear them. Maybe they went back to the venue’s main hall.

You bit the inside of your cheek, making a mental note to ask Seonghwa for Hongjoong’s number before it was time to head back home. You couldn’t keep something with such a huge value in your hands much longer.

Once you were sure the coast was clear, you emerged from the restroom, walking back to the main hall while nervously fiddling with your fingers. You spotted Seonghwa sitting by the staircase next to Wooyoung, and as soon as he saw you, his face lit up.

He walked towards you with a welcoming smile. “Why’d you run off so suddenly earlier?” he asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

You waved him off, hoping he wouldn’t pry further. “I just needed to go to the restroom,” you said, keeping your tone as casual as possible. Fortunately, he didn’t push for more details.

“Well, Hongjoong stopped by for a bit and left just a few seconds before you got back,” Seonghwa informed you, his eyes scanning your face for a reaction.

You tried to act as if you weren’t already aware—as if Hongjoong wasn’t literally the reason you ran towards the restroom. You forced a nod, your expression neutral. “Oh? Did he say why he was here?”

Seonghwa shrugged. “He was actually looking for you, but something urgent came up, so he had to leave early.”

Thank God for that, you thought, your relief barely concealed. You nodded again, a desperate attempt to act casual, subtly biting the inside of your cheek. “Did he mention why he was looking for me?”

Seonghwa shook his head. “He didn’t get a chance to tell me. But don’t worry, he’ll most likely elaborate further once he’s done with whatever urgent business he’s handling.”

You let out a small sigh of relief, though your mind was still racing. At least you had a chance to return the sketchbook before the day was over. But what if that’s exactly why he was looking for you? No, no, that couldn’t be the case. You had to quit stressing yourself out.

Suddenly, you remembered your mental note to ask for Hongjoong’s number. You glanced at Seonghwa, trying to keep your voice steady. “Seonghwa, could I get Hongjoong’s number? I might need to discuss something with him... you know, business matters.”

Seonghwa smiled, not seeming to be suspicious. “Oh, sure thing. Give me a moment.” He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts before finding Hongjoong’s number and sharing it with you.

“Thank you,” you said, grateful that he didn’t ask further questions. Being a model on the fresh start of her journey needing to message the creative director of the brand she’s under was perfectly plausible.

With Hongjoong’s number saved in your phone, you felt a mixture of anxiety and determination. You couldn’t let this opportunity slip away, but you also couldn’t let fear control your actions. Now, you just need to find the right moment to return the sketchbook and hopefully clear the air.

Hours had passed, and the photoshoot concluded perfectly. Before you left the venue, Wooyoung approached you with a smile. “I might take about a short while to edit the shots I’ve taken. I’ll make sure you’re the first to see them, just in case there are a few photos you wouldn’t like to be published,” he said, catching you by surprise.

You nodded, genuinely touched. “Thank you, Wooyoung. I appreciate that.”

He grinned, his eyes turning into small crescents. “No problem. It’s important that you’re comfortable with everything.”

As you left, you reflected on how considerate everyone had been. It shattered your preconceived notions about the fashion industry. Prejudices can indeed be harmful, you mused.

Now, you found yourself at the park once more, nervously shaking your legs as the tips of your fingers hovered over the letters on your phone’s keyboard. You deeply contemplated what message to send Hongjoong. Every possible phrase ran through your mind, each one feeling inadequate or too forward. How were you going to construct a message asking him to come to the park because you had something important to talk about?

After what felt like an eternity, you finally settled on a message you deemed sufficient:

Hi, Hongjoong. Sorry for the late notice, but I was hoping we could meet at the park for a moment. There’s something important I need to discuss with you. Let me know if you’re available. Thank you.

For a moment, you could only stare at the send button, which seemed to glare back at you with an almost mocking intensity. Letting out a sigh, you closed your eyes shut the exact moment you hit the button, trying so hard to keep yourself calm. Okay, maybe you were being quite dramatic right now, but you’ve always had a thing for being an overthinker—so what’s the surprise now?

It took a couple of minutes until your phone buzzed with Hongjoong’s response.

I’ll be on my way in a bit.

You sent a quick message back, ensuring he knew you’d be patiently waiting. Then, deciding to avoid making yourself more nervous, you turned off your phone. Your eyes drifted to the sketchbook inside your bag, a contemplative gaze settling on your face.

Your mind began to spiral into a torrent of overthinking. What if this doesn’t go the way you’re hoping it will? What if this makes things awkward between you two? The sketchbook held his designs for Autumn Fashion Week. Losing it must have caused him immense stress. Would he even be able to trust you again after this? What if the consequences were more severe than you anticipated? Each scenario played out in vivid detail, heightening your anxiety with every passing second. Most of all, you worried about Hongjoong’s reaction. Would he be disappointed? Understanding? Furious?

As you sat there, these thoughts swirling uncontrollably, you began to realize just how significant this moment was. The weight of the sketchbook in your bag felt heavier with each passing minute, a tangible reminder of the impact your actions could have.

Just as your thoughts were about to spiral deeper into a vortex of anxiety, a familiar voice softly called your name from behind. You turned around sharply, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest. There stood Hongjoong, his expression warm and slightly curious.

You immediately stood up from the bench, awkwardly fumbling with your hands, struggling to find the right way to greet him. At that moment, you realized how foolish your plan was. Here was the creative director of the brand you were now modeling for, and you had asked him to meet you at a local park? The idea seemed incredibly disrespectful in hindsight, and you cringed inwardly at your own lack of foresight.

Hongjoong seemed to notice the shift in your demeanor. His eyes softened, and as if he could read your mind, he laughed gently, attempting to put you at ease. “It’s all good,” he reassured you, his tone kind and understanding.

“I’m so sorry for asking you to come here at such an unexpected hour,” you apologized, your voice tinged with genuine regret and bashfulness. Truthfully, all you could wish for right now was for a lightning to magically strike exactly where you were currently standing. It would hurt less than having to endure the embarrassment you were currently facing.

“It’s alright, really,” he said, waving off your concern with a nonchalant gesture. “How about we take a seat, and you can tell me what you called me here for?”

You nodded, your heart still pounding in your chest. You sat back down on the bench, scooting to the side to give him ample space. Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your nerves, your fingers trembling slightly as you clasped them together.

“So,” Hongjoong began, his eyes never leaving your face, “what’s on your mind?”

You opened your mouth to speak, but your words came out in a jumbled mess. “Well, you see, it’s just... I mean, I wanted to... there’s something important I...”

Hongjoong listened intently, his expression patient but slightly puzzled. He waited for you to continue, giving you the space you needed to gather your thoughts. He could tell you were avoiding the main topic, and his curiosity was piqued. After a moment of watching you struggle, he gently cut in, his voice soft and encouraging. “It’s okay. Just cut to the chase.”

You pursed your lips, feeling the anxiety tighten like a vice around your chest. With a shaky hand, you reached into your bag and pulled out the sketchbook, shoving it into his arms. Immediately, you stood up, your first instinct to run away. But Hongjoong quickly stood up too, catching your wrist in a gentle but firm grip and turning you back towards him.

The look in his eyes was unreadable, a mix of curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place. Under his steady gaze, you felt a wave of shame and guilt wash over you. You began to ramble, the words spilling out uncontrollably.

“Look, I’m so, so sorry—I really didn’t want to keep it for so long, I just couldn’t find a way to return it to you because I was so scared my career would be jeopardized before it even started. I was afraid you’d be upset, and that’s completely valid because if I were you, I would be chasing myself around with a knife right now, and...”

Hongjoong let go of your wrist and laughed, a sound so unexpected that it made you fall silent. The tears that had been threatening to fall halted themselves, leaving you feeling both confused and relieved.

You looked at him with a puzzled expression. “... Why are you laughing?”

He smiled, still chuckling softly. “Upset? Not once was I ever upset the day I found out you had my sketchbook because I knew it was in good hands.”

This statement only deepened your confusion. “Huh? Sorry, what do you mean by that?”

He shifted lightly. “Do you remember the first casting audition you attended?” he asked, his eyes glinting with a hint of amusement. You nodded wordlessly, your mind racing to recall the details. “I knew my sketchbook was in your hands the moment I saw what you were wearing,” he explained, his tone matter-of-fact.

Then it hit you. The dress you had worn that day was inspired by one of his designs, a subtle homage to his work. “Is… is that why you approached me in the waiting room that day?” you asked, realization dawning on you.

“Yes, but I also wanted to see how you would react to me introducing myself,” he admitted, a playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I had a hunch you had no idea I was the owner of the sketchbook.”

You felt dumbfounded, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place. “You knew all along? Why didn’t you confront me about it?”

He shrugged comfortably, his demeanor relaxed. “I knew I could trust you to return it eventually.” He looked down at the sketchbook now back in his hands, his expression one of satisfaction. “And I guess I was right, after all.”

“So… what’s going to happen to me now?” you asked, your voice small and uncertain, the weight of your fears hanging heavy right above your head, the rope holding it up a second close to snapping.

“What do you mean?” he replied, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion.

“Aren’t I going to get in trouble? It’s what I deserve, you know. Seonghwa told me about how much stress you’ve been having to endure because of your missing sketchbook.”

He waved you off, shaking his head with a reassuring smile. “You only would’ve gotten in trouble if you had chosen to leak my designs or didn’t come forward like you did now.”

There was a short pause as he reached into his shoulder bag. When you saw a tiny peek of what it was, your eyes immediately widened.

“So, now that that’s out of the way, I’m guessing this is yours, then?” he said, raising the object high enough for you to see.

Your journal.

You could only look at it in complete, utter shock, your eyes wide with surprise. He had your journal all along, too? But how come he had it with him now, at this very specific moment? Did he already know beforehand that you were the owner of it, too?

“How did you... how’d you know that belongs to me?” you asked, still dumbfoundedly staring at it as it remained in his hands.

He shrugged with a knowing smile. “Call it a hunch.”

You took it from his grasp, flipping through the pages just to make sure it was actually your journal. It was. “No, seriously, how did you know...?”

He paused, then admitted, “Well, may have read a single page. What I read was an entry about wanting to move to a new country to restart your life and turn over a new leaf. I remembered that the moment you told your story about your past to the casting directors during the auditions, and that’s when I put two and two together. I was just waiting for the right time to return it to you.”

“The right time as in the time I’d finally decide to return your sketchbook?”

“Precisely,” he responded, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“So you knew my intention behind asking you to meet up tonight?” you asked, a mix of amazement and embarrassment flooding through you.

“I did. Call it a hunch—for real this time.”

You looked up at him, trying to process everything. “So... where do we go from here?”

He tilted his head slightly, a curious expression on his face. “What do you mean by that?”

You fiddled with the hem of the sweater you were wearing, not really sure how this night was meant to be concluded—another thing you forgot to consider, thanks to your constant overthinking. “You have your sketchbook, and I have my journal... I suppose we should call this a day, then?”

He chuckled softly. “You’re still tense, aren’t you?”

You sighed, feeling the tension in your shoulders that you had been trying to ignore. “I can’t help it.”

Hongjoong tried to lighten the mood with a playful tone. “You better be, because who knows if I might switch up on you last minute or not.”

But his attempt at humor backfired. You immediately began to worry, your words coming out in a frantic scurry. “Please don’t! I mean, I really didn’t mean to keep it for so long. I was just scared, and...”

“No, no, I didn’t mean that,” he quickly interjected, his smile turning sheepish. “That was probably not a good joke... Sorry about that.” Hongjoong then spoke up again, his tone more sincere. “Let’s see… Why don’t we stop by the cafe where this all started? Just to get your mind off your persisting worries?”

You hesitated, trying to turn his offer down. “Oh, I don’t want to take up more of your time than I already did. You’re probably busy...”

He shook his head, his expression earnest. “That’s not the case at all. I don’t mind. Really, I insist.” Seeing the genuine look in his eyes, you finally nodded, a small smile forming on your lips as you caved in.

As you both started walking, you felt some of the tension begin to ease. The sketchbook and journal were back with their rightful owners, and despite the initial awkwardness, the evening was starting to take a more positive turn. The park was quiet, the air filled with the soft rustle of leaves and the distant hum of city life, creating a calming backdrop for your walk to the cafe.

Hongjoong led the way, his steps confident yet relaxed. “You know,” he began, glancing at you, “I’ve always believed that the right things find their way back to you at the right time. Looks like today was one of those days.”

You nodded, reflecting on his words. “Yeah, I suppose it was.”

You and Hongjoong eventually approached the cafe, the warm, inviting light spilling out onto the street through the large windows. The bell above the door chimed softly as you entered, and a comforting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled the air. The interior was cozy, with a few patrons scattered around, each immersed in their own little worlds. You both walked up to the counter, where a cheerful barista greeted you with a welcoming smile.

Hongjoong glanced at you, gesturing for you to go first. “What would you like?”

You scanned the menu briefly before deciding. “I’ll have a caramel macchiato, please.”

The barista nodded and turned to Hongjoong. “And for you, sir?”

“I’ll take an Americano,” he replied with a friendly nod.

As the barista prepared your drinks, you and Hongjoong made small talk, the earlier tension steadily dissolving into a more relaxed and natural conversation. Once your drinks were ready, you carried them over to a small table by the window, where the soft evening light created a serene atmosphere.

Settling into your seats, Hongjoong took a sip of his coffee before turning his attention to you. “So, about that dress you wore at the audition. How did you make it? Because, as my memory serves me, it was a hundred percent identical to the design I made.”

You smiled, reminiscing about the creation process. “The landlord of the apartment I’m currently staying in helped me with making it. It was her way of thanking me for helping her with grocery shopping one day. She’s really talented with a sewing machine.”

Hongjoong’s eyes softened, and a warm smile spread across his face. “That’s really heartwarming. It’s wonderful how small acts of kindness can lead to such beautiful collaborations. It’s like the universe has a way of bringing the right people together at the right time.”

Touched by his words, you nodded. “The design itself was really beautiful and eye-catching. What was the inspiration behind it?”

Hongjoong’s expression shifted to a more somber tone as he gazed out the window, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup. “They’re inspired by the dreams I have failed to reach.”

Intrigued by the depth of his statement, you leaned forward slightly. “Sorry, could you elaborate on that?”

He paused, as if carefully choosing his words, before responding with a poetic yet cryptic tone. “Sometimes, the dreams we chase slip through our fingers like grains of sand, leaving behind a haunting echo of what could have been. But in that echo, there’s still beauty, still inspiration.”

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight that spoke volumes. You could sense there was more to his story than he was letting on. “Is this dream of yours still up there, or has it already dissipated?”

Hongjoong sighed, a touch of uncertainty in his eyes. “To be honest, I don’t know. All I know is that I don’t want it to be the latter.”

Sensing the mood deflating, you decided to steer the conversation towards lighter waters. “Tell me about Seonghwa and Wooyoung. Have you known them for a long time? The three of you seem really close.”

A smile tugged at Hongjoong’s lips, and he nodded appreciatively. “Yes, we’ve known each other since our youth. Seonghwa and I go way back. As for Wooyoung, we met him in college. He’s a year behind us, but it didn’t take long for us to become close friends.”

“How did the three of you meet?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Hongjoong’s eyes sparkled with fond memories. “Seonghwa and I have known each other since we were kids. We grew up in the same neighborhood and went to the same schools. Wooyoung, on the other hand, we met him during his first year of college when we were in our second. He was this energetic, passionate guy who always had a camera in his hand. We quickly became friends, and our bond just grew stronger over time.”

He continued, his voice warm with nostalgia. “Wooyoung had this knack for capturing moments, and he saw the world in a way that inspired us both. Seonghwa and I were drawn to his creativity, and he brought out the best in us. The three of us complemented each other perfectly, both in our personal lives and in our professional endeavors.”

Hongjoong turned the conversation towards you, his curiosity piqued. “What about you? Do you have any friends that you cherish as much as I do with Wooyoung and Seonghwa?”

You paused to think about it. The figures that appeared in your mind were the daughter of the diner owner you used to work for and another person whose friendship you were unsure about.

Clearing your throat, you snapped out of your thoughts and looked up, meeting Hongjoong’s gaze with your own. “Yes, I do. She’s from Arcadia Bay, my hometown. Her name is Chloe—she’s someone I met through her mother, who owned the diner I used to work at before I got fired for always gobbling up both the leftovers and incorrect orders.”

Hongjoong’s laugh broke the story, and he immediately apologized, but you smiled, shaking your head. “It’s okay. I have to admit, it was a ridiculous way to get fired.” You continued, recounting your friendship with Chloe.

“She’s really cool. A bit of a bad influence, but she was one of the few reasons why I still consider my life in Arcadia Bay worth remembering. She was like those typical angsty teens you’d see in movies—the whole starter pack, even. You know, dyed hair, tattoos, alternative clothing style, sneaking into concerts of rock bands. She had every right to be like that, though. During my shift hours, she’d always keep me company by entertaining me with life stories she definitely shouldn’t have been going through at her age back then. We were sixteen, but that’s usually the rebellious time period for teenagers, so I guess it checks out.”

Hongjoong listened intently to every word, his focus never wavering. You could tell he was genuinely interested in what you were sharing. His attention made you feel valued, as if your stories were as important to him as his own.

“Sounds like your typical high school friendship,” he mused with a smile. “Can’t say it wasn’t the same case for me and Seonghwa, honestly.”

“Hold on, you had a rebellious teen phase?” you asked, leaning forward, genuinely curious.

Hongjoong’s expression grew more animated as he recalled his rebellious past, his eyes twinkling with a mix of mischief and nostalgia. “Oh, you have no idea. Seonghwa and I were quite the troublemakers back then. We were involved in some pretty intense stuff—definitely not your average teenage rebellion, but I’m not too proud of that fact.”

You leaned in, intrigued by the shift in his demeanor. “Like what?” You had to admit, finding out that the man who always seemed to be so poised used to be a reckless teenager was jarring.

He chuckled, a hint of daring in his voice. “Well, for starters, we were heavily into the underground party scene. I’m talking about secret raves in abandoned warehouses and hidden clubs where the music was so loud, you could barely hear yourself think. The kind of places where the lights were always dim, and you had to know someone to get in.”

You listened intently, picturing the vibrant, chaotic scenes he described. “That sounds wild.” It was the type of life you’ll never be able to picture yourself experiencing—the very first proof of this being always turning down Chloe’s invites to parties taking place in a shady venue. It seemed fun, that’s for sure, but you just weren’t really built for it.

“Oh, it was,” Hongjoong agreed, his smile widening. “We were also really into street racing. Seonghwa had this old, souped-up car that he’d been working on for months. We’d drive it through the city streets, racing against anyone who dared to challenge us. Sometimes, we’d even have to make a quick getaway when the police showed up.”

His words painted a vivid picture of adrenaline-fueled nights and high-stakes races. “The police? That must have been thrilling.”

“It was,” he said, his gaze distant as if replaying the scenes in his mind. “And then there were the run-ins with the law. We were caught a few times, of course. Nothing too serious, but we had our share of close calls. There was this one time we were cornered by the cops after a particularly wild race, and we had to evade them through the back alleys of the city. It was like something out of a movie.”

Your eyes widened, impressed by the intensity of his teenage years. “Didn’t that ever scare you?”

He shrugged, a nonchalant smile on his face. “Not really. At the time, it felt like living on the edge was the only way to really feel alive. It was exhilarating, but we always managed to stay one step ahead. Those experiences made us who we are today, and while I don’t miss the chaos, I look back on it with a certain fondness.”

“You seem so different now,” you observed, noting the contrast between his past and present demeanor.

“Yeah,” Hongjoong agreed, his smile softening. “I guess I’ve changed quite a bit. Those days taught me a lot, but I also realized that I needed to channel that energy into something more constructive. That’s how I ended up finding my path in fashion designing. It was like a transformation from chaos to creativity. I still have a taste for adventure, but I prefer it now in the form of pushing boundaries in design rather than… dodging the cops.”

You laughed, though it was soon followed by an understanding nod, taking in the depth of his transformation. “It sounds like those years shaped you a lot. What was Seonghwa like during all this?”

Hongjoong’s eyes lit up as he spoke about his friend. “Seonghwa was my partner in crime, quite literally. He was just as reckless and adventurous as I was. We were inseparable back then. He had a natural knack for getting us into the thick of things—whether it was by pushing our luck with illegal street races or sneaking into the most exclusive underground parties.”

You could sense the warmth in Hongjoong’s tone as he spoke of Seonghwa. “And did he ever get tired of all the chaos?”

“No,” Hongjoong laughed, shaking his head. “If anything, he thrived on it. We both did. But as we grew older, we started to see the value in channeling that rebellious spirit into something more sustainable. We realized that we could use our drive and creativity in more productive ways.”

He paused for a moment, his gaze reflecting a mixture of nostalgia and contentment. “It’s funny, really. What once was all about defying norms and breaking rules became a passion for creating something new and innovative. I think it’s one of the reasons why Seonghwa and I get along so well. We understand each other’s journey from foolish teens to responsible adults.”

“Do you ever miss those days?” you asked, curious if he ever longed for the simpler times.

Hongjoong’s expression softened. “Sometimes. Life was simpler back then. No major responsibilities, just living in the moment. But I also appreciate where I am now. Those experiences shaped who I am today, and I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

You nodded in agreement, understanding his sentiment. “It’s amazing how those memories stay with us and influence who we become.”

He smiled warmly at you. “Right. And it’s the people we meet along the way that make those memories special. Like Chloe for you.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, thinking about your old friend. “Chloe was definitely one of those people. She made my time in Arcadia Bay memorable, despite everything.”

Hongjoong’s eyes held a hint of admiration as he looked at you. “It sounds like you had a real connection with her. Those kinds of friendships are rare and valuable.”

“They are,” you agreed, feeling a sense of nostalgia. “I’m grateful for those times, even if they’re in the past now.”

You leaned back in your chair, taking a moment to gather your thoughts before speaking. “You know, it feels a little weird sharing these stories with you. Not that it makes me uncomfortable, it’s just… I quite literally work under you. I can’t help but feel worried that I’m crossing a boundary by talking about these things.”

Hongjoong’s expression softened as he leaned forward, his eyes meeting yours. “I understand why you might feel that way, but you’re not crossing any boundaries. Outside of work and the industry, I’m not a creative director. I’m just a normal human, just like you. So, it’s alright to talk to me about these things.”

You smiled, feeling a bit more reassured. “It might take a while for me to get used to talking to you comfortably without feeling guilty right after, though.” You sheepishly rubbed the back of your neck.

He nodded, his smile understanding. “That’s completely understandable. Take your time.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics, and minutes later, you both decided to call it a night. Hongjoong stood up, lending his hand to help you out of your seat.

“Let me take you home,” he offered. While your initial thought was to turn him down, you knew deep inside you had a huge fear of walking alone late at night, so all you could do was accept his offer with a wordless nod of gratitude.

As you walked together towards your apartment, Hongjoong began to indulge you in small talk. “So, tell me more about your landlord.”

You smiled, thinking of Madame Dupont. “She’s always been very kind to me ever since I first moved in. She’s a lovely woman. She has a beautiful garden at the apartment, and back when I was still on my job hunt, I’d see her early in the morning, watering her plants and flowers. I think it’s a nice hobby to have.”

Hongjoong nodded, appreciating the sentiment. “Gardening does sound like a peaceful hobby. Have you ever thought about making your own garden?”

“I actually have, quite a few times already. But I can barely even take care of myself, so taking care of something else—a whole bunch of them at that—doesn’t really seem like a good idea on my behalf,” you joked, and both of you shared a laugh.

The laughter faded, and you shifted the conversation. “What about you? Do you have a dream hobby you wish to indulge in one day?”

Hongjoong’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I’ve actually been wanting to learn how to play the guitar—an electric one specifically. But I’m just currently too busy with my work to sneak in a hobby.”

You decided to test the waters with a light-hearted joke. “That hobby is long overdue. You should’ve thought of it back when you were in your angsty teen phase.” Was that alright to say? Was it too far?

Much to your relief, Hongjoong laughed heartily. “You’re right. It would’ve fit perfectly with who I was back then.”

When you both finally reached your apartment building, you let out a small hum of surprise as a familiar figure darted towards you—a mischievous little feline known all too well to you.

“Pompidou?” you called out softly, crouching down as the cat stopped right in front of you, looking up with wide, curious eyes. You bent your knees, scooping it up into your arms with a gentle smile, feeling the comforting weight and warmth of the small creature.

Hongjoong watched this interaction with a fond smile, his eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Is that your cat?” he asked, stepping a little closer to get a better look.

You shook your head, still smiling as you stroked Pompidou’s soft fur. “No, he belongs to a fellow tenant. Pompidou just prefers to stay outdoors more. He’s quite the adventurous little guy.”

Intrigued, Hongjoong reached out to rub the cat’s head. “Be careful, he might—” You started to warn him about Pompidou’s unpredictable nature, but to your surprise, the cat began nuzzling its head against Hongjoong’s palm, purring contentedly.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight, glancing up at Hongjoong. The proximity between your faces made your heart skip a beat, and you quickly looked back down at Pompidou, feeling a bit flustered. Clearing your throat to regain composure, you said, “It likes you.”

Hongjoong continued to rub Pompidou’s head, his touch gentle and kind. “Does it usually not accept physical touch from people who aren’t its owner?” he asked, looking genuinely curious.

You nodded. “You’re right. Sometimes, Pompidou doesn’t even like being touched by its owner. Poor Monsieur Frank always has to chase him around. It’s quite a sight.”

This made Hongjoong chuckle, a warm sound that resonated in the quiet evening. “But it likes you?”

You shrugged, still a bit puzzled by the cat’s behavior. “I honestly have no idea why that’s the case. Maybe he senses something.”

Hongjoong’s eyes softened as he watched the cat nuzzle against you. “I remember reading an article about animals and their behavioral traits, and it said that when a cat is naturally drawn to you, it means you have a kind soul and they can sense it.”

The thought of Pompidou seeing your soul as something pure warmed your heart, making you embrace the cat a little tighter. You glanced at Hongjoong, touched by his words. “Maybe that’s why it likes you a lot,” he mused quietly, almost as if speaking to himself.

As you cradled Pompidou in your arms like a baby, Hongjoong took a step back, reaching into his bag to retrieve his phone. He quickly snapped a candid photo of you with the cat, the moment capturing the tender interaction between you and Pompidou. Once the photo was taken, he discreetly put his phone back in his bag.

Only then did you turn your attention back to him, smiling warmly. “Thank you for spending the evening with me and walking me home. It was really nice. And… I’m still so sorry about not choosing to return the sketchbook sooner.”

Hongjoong laughed softly, shaking his head. “No need to thank me. I enjoyed it too. And don’t worry about the sketchbook. It’s really not a problem.”

You waved goodbye, watching as he safely crossed the road before finally heading inside. Setting Pompidou down gently on the floor, you bid the cat farewell too before heading up to your apartment. Once inside, you heaved a soft sigh of relief, feeling the familiar comfort of your home envelop you after a long day. Stretching your arms, you plopped yourself on the floor, leaning back against the couch to relax.

A message notification from Hongjoong pinged on your phone, showing a photo attachment. Opening it with initial confusion, you smiled widely as you saw a candid photo of you holding Pompidou in your arms. The image captured the warmth of the moment perfectly. You quickly reacted to the photo with a heart, typing out a response.

How come I didn’t notice you taking this photo?

Hongjoong’s reply then came swiftly, nearly a couple seconds right after you sent yours.

When you have a cat in your arms, it’s quite impossible to focus on everything that’s happening around you.

You laughed at his message, feeling a sense of warmth spread through you. You thanked him for today once more before shutting your phone and calling it a day—a well-spent one, at that.

—

It still felt surreal to everyone except for Hongjoong that the sketchbook was finally back in his hands, removing the key obstacle that had been troubling him for a while. It had been three days since he shared the news with Seonghwa and Wooyoung, and despite the word spreading quickly, people still found it hard to believe that it had resurfaced just when everyone least expected it. Relief was the dominant sentiment among the team, but Seonghwa and Wooyoung couldn’t shake their curiosity about how, when, and where Hongjoong found the sketchbook. This mystery led them to their usual spot for private conversations about Hongjoong: Seonghwa’s office.

Seonghwa sat at his desk, diligently working through paperwork, while Wooyoung sprawled on the office couch, staring at the ceiling with a thoughtful frown.

“I just don’t get why he’d be so cryptic about it,” Wooyoung said, breaking the silence. His voice carried a mix of confusion and frustration.

Seonghwa shrugged without looking up from his papers. “He’s always had a knack for being secretive. But in this situation, it doesn’t seem quite sensible.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Wooyoung almost yelled, sitting up abruptly. Seonghwa glanced at him, surprised by his outburst. “Oops. But yeah, it’s not like he has to share every detail with us, but why wouldn’t he, you know?”

“I’m as lost as you are,” Seonghwa replied with a sigh, flipping to the next page of his paperwork. “Maybe he’ll come around eventually. For now, we should just be glad he’s got it back. You know how much it means to him.”

Wooyoung nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I do. It means as much to him as a worn-out bunny plush means to a child in a horror movie.”

Seonghwa chuckled at the comparison. “Nice observation.”

“You think he’s gonna magically appear anytime soon now?” Wooyoung asked suddenly, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. “He always seems to show up exactly when we’re talking about him.”

“You think he’ll show up if you say his name three times?” Seonghwa asked, playing along with Wooyoung’s musings.

“What, like Bloody Mary?”

“I was leaning towards Beetlejuice, but that fits too,” Seonghwa responded with a contemplative look.

Wooyoung grinned. “Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetle—”

At that exact moment, the door to Seonghwa’s office swung open, and Hongjoong walked in. “Speak of the devil,” Seonghwa said, unable to hide his amusement as he looked at Wooyoung, who appeared mortified.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, clearly aware of their conversation. “Talking about me again?”

Wooyoung tried to play it cool. “Oh, I was actually summoning you right before you came in.”

Hongjoong gave him a deadpan expression. “I heard you chanting Beetlejuice’s name three times before entering.”

Feigning innocence, Wooyoung shrugged. “Pure coincidence.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes and brushed him off, turning his attention to Seonghwa. “Anyway, we need to discuss the plans for Fashion Week now that the sketchbook is back. Can we go over the details?”

Seonghwa nodded, clearing his desk to make space for the discussion. He pulled out a large binder filled with notes, sketches, and timelines. “Of course. We have a lot to cover.”

Hongjoong settled into the chair across from Seonghwa, pulling out his own notes. “I’ve been thinking about our initial concept for the collection. Now that we have the sketches back, I want to make sure we stay true to the original vision.”

Seonghwa flipped through the binder, stopping at a section filled with sketches and fabric swatches. “I agree. The original vision was strong, but we need to ensure every piece aligns perfectly with it. Let’s start with the color palette.”

Hongjoong nodded, leaning forward. “I’m thinking we stick with the bold, contrasting colors. It’s a statement collection, and the colors need to reflect that. The deep reds, midnight blues, and metallic accents should remain as the primary focus.”

Seonghwa made notes as Hongjoong spoke, occasionally nodding in agreement. “And the fabrics? Are we still going with the mix of leather and silk?”

“We are,” Hongjoong confirmed. “The juxtaposition of the tough and the delicate is what gives the collection its edge. The leather jackets with silk linings, the silk dresses with leather accents—it all needs to be cohesive.”

Wooyoung, now sitting up properly, watched the discussion unfold with interest. “What about the accessories? Are we doing anything special with those?”

Hongjoong glanced at Wooyoung, then back at Seonghwa. “I was thinking about incorporating some custom jewelry pieces. Something that complements the outfits but stands out on its own. Maybe some statement necklaces and rings?”

Seonghwa jotted down the ideas, flipping to another page in the binder. “And the runway show? Do we have a clear vision for the presentation?”

“Yes,” Hongjoong said firmly. "The runway needs to reflect the collection’s theme. I’m envisioning a stark, industrial setting with dramatic lighting. The music should be intense, something that amplifies the mood we’re going for.”

Seonghwa nodded, his pen moving quickly across the paper. “Sounds perfect. We’ll need to coordinate with the production team to make sure everything aligns.”

Wooyoung, still lounging on the couch, suddenly broke the silence with a thoughtful question. “Would you ever tell us about how you got your sketchbook back someday? Like, you know, maybe after Fashion Week?”

Seonghwa, leaning back in his chair and stretching, hummed in agreement. “While I’m not usually one to pry, I have to admit I’m a little curious about that as well.”

Hongjoong simply smiled, leaning back in his seat. “It’s up to the answer if it wants to come forward. If not, I’m afraid all you can do is accept things as they are.”

Wooyoung frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the cryptic response. “Why are you always so mysterious whenever there’s something you don’t want to tell us about? You sound like a riddler.”

Hongjoong laughed, the sound echoing warmly in the room. “Maybe I am,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement. He then shifted the conversation, clearly intent on steering it away from the sketchbook’s return. “Anyway, how did the recent photoshoot at that old Parisian venue go? I couldn’t stick around long because of work.”

Wooyoung’s expression brightened at the change of topic. “Oh, it went really well! She was fantastic. She had this natural ease in front of the camera that made everything flow smoothly. The venue was perfect too, with its rustic charm and vintage vibes. It really brought out the best in the shoot.”

Seonghwa nodded, visibly pleased with the feedback. “I’ve seen some of the raw shots. They’re set to be uploaded on our social media platforms tomorrow. Are the chosen photos finalized?”

Wooyoung leaned back, crossing his arms with a satisfied grin. “Yes, they are. I sent the file to you last night, actually. I left it up to her to choose which ones she wanted to be uploaded and which ones she didn’t. She has a good eye for these things.”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “That’s a lot of trust to put in her.”

Wooyoung shrugged. “She chose the best shots—she knows her stuff, that’s for sure. Plus, she’s the one in the photos. It only makes sense for her to have a say in how she’s presented.”

Seonghwa agreed, his fingers tapping thoughtfully on his desk. “I think it’s a good call. It’s important that she feels comfortable with what’s being shared. It builds trust and respect, which is essential in this industry.”

Hongjoong nodded, appreciating their insights. “I’m glad to hear it went well. It’s good to know we’re on the right track.”

Wooyoung’s grin widened. “I agree. And I have to say, she really brought her A-game. I think the location also played a huge role. There’s something about that old Parisian charm that adds a layer of authenticity and nostalgia to the photos. It’s like we’re capturing a piece of history.”

Hongjoong leaned forward, his interest piqued. “I’d love to see the final selections. Can we go through them now?”

Seonghwa reached for his laptop, quickly pulling up the folder with the chosen photos. He positioned the screen so all three of them could see. “Here are the ones she decided on.”

They spent the next few minutes reviewing each photo, discussing the angles, the lighting, and the overall composition.

“This one,” Hongjoong pointed to a shot where you were caught in a candid moment of laughter. “It feels so genuine and warm. It’s the kind of photo that draws people in.”

Wooyoung nodded. “That’s exactly why she chose it. It’s authentic. It shows her personality in a way that’s relatable and endearing.”

Seonghwa scrolled to another photo, this one a more posed shot with you looking pensively out of a window. “And this one has a different kind of impact. It’s introspective and thoughtful. It adds depth to the collection.”

Hongjoong agreed, his eyes lingering on the image. “It’s a good balance. We need both the candid and the posed shots to tell a complete story.”

Wooyoung chimed in, “She really knows how to work the camera. Even in the posed shots, there’s this natural grace about her that just comes through.”

Hongjoong added, “The lighting in this one is perfect. It highlights her features without being too harsh. It’s soft, yet striking. And the backdrop of the Parisian venue really adds a timeless quality to the photos. It’s like we’re capturing a moment in time, a blend of the past and present.”

Wooyoung leaned back on the couch, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “You know, while I think the backdrop and the angles definitely helped, I believe it was her visuals that completed the whole thing. There’s just something about the way she carries herself.”

Seonghwa nodded, glancing at the photos on the laptop screen. “I agree. Even when I first saw her on the other side of the road, she looked like she was part of some sort of painting. There’s an almost ethereal quality to her presence.”

Hongjoong, who had been lost in thought, found himself contemplating the same thing. There was something about you, not just your looks but your overall vibe, that felt different to him. It wasn’t just your physical appearance; it was the way you composed yourself, the quiet confidence you exude. It was as if you were in a world of your own, and yet fully present in the moment. He couldn’t quite place it, but it intrigued him deeply.

Snapping his fingers in front of Hongjoong’s face, Wooyoung dragged him out of his reverie. “Hey, earth to Hongjoong. You okay?”

Hongjoong blinked, realizing he had been staring off into space. “Sorry, I was lost in thought. Were you saying something?”

Wooyoung chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I was just saying there’s something about her charisma that sets her apart from every other model I’ve worked with. Don’t you agree? It’s like she has this unique energy that just draws people in.”

Hongjoong nodded slowly, his mind still partially occupied by his earlier thoughts. “Yeah... yeah, I agree. There’s definitely something special about her. It’s not just about looks. It’s more than that.”

Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. “I think It’s her presence. She has this natural grace and ease that’s rare. It’s like she belongs in front of the camera, but she’s not trying too hard. It’s effortless.”

Wooyoung smiled, his thoughts aligning with Seonghwa’s words. “You get it. It’s like she’s not performing, she’s just being herself. And that authenticity shines through in every shot.”

Hongjoong nodded. “That’s what makes her perfect for our brand. She embodies the kind of genuine beauty and charisma we want to showcase. It’s refreshing to work with someone who doesn’t rely on pretense.” He glanced at the photos once more, feeling a sense of satisfaction and excitement. “We’re lucky to have her on board.”

Seonghwa nodded, closing the laptop. “Agreed. And with Fashion Week coming up, we need all the positive energy we can get. This is a great start.”

Wooyoung stretched, a content smile on his face. “I can’t wait to see the reaction when these photos go live. I have a feeling they’re going to be a hit.”

As the conversation shifted to the finer details of the upcoming Fashion Week, the room buzzed with excitement and determination. They knew they were on the brink of something great, and they were ready to give it their all.

Yet, amidst all the planning and strategizing, Hongjoong couldn’t shake the lingering thoughts of you. There was something about your presence that stayed with him, a quiet, unspoken connection that he couldn’t quite define. He knew there was more to you than met the eye, and he found himself eager to discover what that was.

🪞 — lividstar.

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Six: A New Companion

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 5k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ The tension mounts as you anxiously await a message from the directors. A call from Seonghwa bringing you the not-so-good news of you passing the first round of the casting brings mixed emotions, and a walk in the park offers a brief escape from your spiraling worries. Returning home, you find comfort in the unexpected presence of Pompidou, Monsieur Frank’s mischievous feline. As the day of the callback arrives, the pressure intensifies, culminating in a nerve-wracking evaluation before Hongjoong and the casting panel.

a/n: one of my classmates from my journalism class just asked me how i improve my literary skills and i blanked out because i couldn’t tell her i do it by writing fics :’) only our class’s photojournalist knows about it because she’s a close friend of mine

tags: @beabatiny

It’s been three days, and you’ve been on the edge of your seat for what feels like an eternity, always hoping for a callback notification. But that’s not the only thing that’s stressing you out—the sketchbook is another factor, too. Sure, you were hoping to make it past the first round, but if you did, that would only mean permanently being under the same workspace as the man who owns the sketchbook that you still don’t have the guts to return—not because you don’t want to but because you’re scared. And he wouldn’t be just a co-worker, no, he’s the creative director, meaning you’re not just under the same agency as him—instead, you’re under him.

You’ve been contemplating whether you should drop subtle questions here and there to Seonghwa in your conversation, asking if Hongjoong is currently going through a tough situation regarding his line of work, but that would be too obvious. It’s not that you were keeping your secret for the sake of saving your potential career—you wanted nothing more than to just shove it into Hongjoong’s arms and make a run for it, but the possible consequences kept outweighing your rationality. This was one of the many struggles of yours you can’t confide in someone about.

Today was no different. It was only early in the morning, but you were already pacing around your room, glancing back and forth at the sketchbook that was now laid on your bed. Each time you looked at it, your stomach twisted with anxiety, the constant thoughts swirling in your head at an even faster pace. What if Hongjoong finds out? What if he’s already suspicious? Every scenario played out in your head, from being publicly shamed to being blacklisted from the industry. The longer you thought about it, the more you felt the weight of the potential repercussions.

Would Hongjoong be understanding if you returned the sketchbook and explained the mix-up? Or would he think you were trying to steal his ideas? The stakes felt incredibly high, and it was a gamble you weren’t sure you were ready to take. Trust was hard to rebuild once broken, and you had just begun to establish a foothold in this new world.

You sat on your bed, picking up the sketchbook and flipping through its pages again. The designs were intricate, detailed, and undoubtedly brilliant. You admired Hongjoong's work, but that admiration was tainted by the anxiety of knowing you had something that didn’t belong to you. Just then, when you felt like your resolve was about to crumble completely, your phone that was on your desk started ringing. Anxious, you quickly walked toward it and saw that the caller was Seonghwa. You picked it up, trying to sound calm as you greeted him like you weren’t just nearly losing it seconds ago.

“Hello, Seonghwa,” you said, your voice slightly shaky—after all, he could be calling for any reason out there, even the ones outside of your mind.

“Hey,” Seonghwa’s voice came through the line, cheerful as always. Would he still sound the same, were he to ever find out? “I have some great news for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. "Really…? What is it?"

“You got a callback,” Seonghwa announced, a hint of pride in his tone. “The casting directors were really impressed with you.”

Relief and excitement washed over you, momentarily drowning out your worries about the sketchbook. “That’s… that’s amazing. Thank you so much for letting me know and for believing in me, Seonghwa.” You were happy, really. It’s just you didn’t have it in you to outwardly express it, especially considering your current situation.

“I knew you had it in you,” Seonghwa continued. “They’ll be sending you a message with all the details. Make sure you’re prepared, alright? This is a big step.”

“I will, thank you again, Seonghwa. I really appreciate all your support.”

“Of course,” he replied warmly. “I’m in full support of you. Just stay focused and do your best.”

You ended the call feeling a mix of elation and nerves. The callback was a huge opportunity, but it also meant your anxiety about Hongjoong and the sketchbook would be an ongoing issue. You had to figure out a way to handle it without jeopardizing everything you had worked for. A few minutes after the call, you received a message from an unknown contact and read it. It’s from the agency and its casting directors:

Congratulations on making it to the next round of callbacks for our upcoming show! We were thoroughly impressed with your performance during the initial casting, and we are excited to see more from you.

Here are the details:

1. Date and Time: Please arrive at our main office at 9:00 AM sharp on Friday this week.

2. Location: 8th Avenue, Paradigm Street.

3. Attire: Please wear simple, form-fitting clothing that allows us to see your figure clearly. Avoid excessive accessories or makeup.

4. Portfolio: Bring an updated portfolio with recent photos, including headshots and full-body images.

5. Preparation: Be ready for a photography session and possibly engage in a brief interview with our casting directors. We are looking for confidence, professionalism, and the ability to adapt to different styles and instructions.

We wish you the best of luck and look forward to seeing you soon.

After you finish reading it and taking mental notes of each requirement, you let yourself fall onto your bed on your back, looking up at the ceiling while groaning and burying your face in your hands. This was supposed to make you happy, but all you felt was nervousness. Could this really be treated as a win when it comes at the cost of a huge loss?

Meanwhile, Seonghwa was, as usual, in his office, accompanied by the presence of Wooyoung, who had been silently listening in on your phone call with Seonghwa while he was busy drawing little doodles on the notepad settled on top of Seonghwa’s desk. “Was that her?” Wooyoung asked, his voice eager.

Seonghwa nodded with a small smile on his face. “Yeah I’m really happy the casting directors saw the same potential I saw in her. I’m really proud. I genuinely think she’d be such a good fit in the industry. I’m sure she’ll be able to find her place despite the fact that she’s entirely foreign to the concept of fashion and modeling.”

Wooyoung nodded in agreement, hopping up to sit on Seonghwa’s desk. “I agree, but aren’t you a little worried, though? The industry isn’t exactly the kindest, especially to those who are new. It’s a rough world out there.”

Seonghwa sighed deeply, his expression turning serious. “Yeah, that’s true. I just hope she won’t get pushed into the negative side of the world of fashion. It’s inevitable, though, so I really just wish her the best. We can only hope she stays grounded and keeps her integrity intact.”

Wooyoung leaned back, folding his arms. “Speaking of which, don’t you think there’s something strange going on with Hongjoong lately? I mean, he’s still... Hongjoong, that’s for sure, but it’s like the army of dark clouds looming over him are slowly starting to disappear. He doesn’t bring up his sketchbook just as much anymore, and he doesn’t seem to be that stressed out over it. Has he found it yet?”

Seonghwa shrugged, looking thoughtful. “Your guess is as good as mine. The frustration’s still there, but it’s as if it had been tamed, somehow. He’s not that much of a douche during work hours anymore, so I guess that’s a good sign? He’s definitely been more tolerable recently.”

Just as Wooyoung was about to respond, the door to Seonghwa’s office swung open, and Hongjoong stepped inside, raising an eyebrow at the two men. “Are you talking about me?” he asked, his tone light but curious.

Wooyoung quickly shot back, “Yeah, what about it?” Hongjoong rolled his eyes, a blank expression on his face as he walked over to Seonghwa’s table and pinched Wooyoung’s ear. “Ow!” Wooyoung yelped, rubbing his ear with a pout.

“Just because you like being the talk of the town doesn’t mean it’s the same for other people,” Hongjoong said, letting go of Wooyoung and making his way to the couch in Seonghwa’s office. He flopped down, stretching out as if he owned the place.

“Je m’appelle ‘don’t give a shit,’” Wooyoung retorted, shrugging his shoulders defiantly at Hongjoong.

Seonghwa, trying to keep the peace, interjected. “Enough of that. What brings you here, Hongjoong?”

Hongjoong shrugged nonchalantly. “Something similar to why Wooyoung loves making himself at home on my office couch. You know, back pains and stuff.”

Seonghwa let out an exasperated sigh. “You two aren’t any different at all, are you?”

A comfortable silence settled over the room for a moment before Hongjoong broke it. “What, you don’t want to talk about me anymore now that I’m here?”

Wooyoung grinned, leaning back on the desk. “Oh, we’ve got plenty to say about you, Hongjoong. Don’t worry.”

Hongjoong chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m sure you do, but maybe save some of it for when I’m not around to defend myself.” He reclined comfortably on Seonghwa’s couch, casually observing the room. He turned his attention to Seonghwa, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Hey, do you have a list of the models who got a callback? I’ve been so busy lately that I haven't had a chance to keep in touch with the casting directors.”

Seonghwa looked up from his desk, shuffling through some papers. “Unfortunately, there were only a handful of models the casting directors were interested in. Less than half, to be precise.”

Wooyoung, who had been lounging against the desk, interjected with a grin. “Wanna know what’s fortunate, though?”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on.”

Wooyoung’s grin widened. “She got in. You know, the—”

“Really?” Hongjoong’s eyes lit up with genuine excitement, already knowing who Wooyoung was referring to. “That’s great news. I never doubted your keen eye, Seonghwa.” He shot Seonghwa a grateful look, as if it weren’t for Seonghwa spotting you at Rue de la Paix, you wouldn’t have even attended the casting.

Seonghwa smiled modestly. It was always nice hearing compliments from Hongjoong, as they never came along that often. “I knew she had potential the moment I saw her.”

Hongjoong nodded appreciatively. “The schedule’s set for Friday this week, right?”

Seonghwa confirmed with a nod. “Yes, Friday.”

Hongjoong’s smile broadened. “Can’t wait for the day to come.”

—

Two days later, you decided to take a walk to the local park, desperately needing a few moments to yourself for some fresh air. The schedule for the callback was now only two days away, and time felt like it was moving both fast and slow at the same time. The anticipation was nerve-wracking, and you couldn't shake the anxiety gnawing at your insides.

The situation with Hongjoong was still fresh in your mind. Like you’ve already told yourself countless times, it wasn’t like you wanted to keep the sketchbook a secret forever. You knew how important it must be for a creative director of a fashion brand. You just needed time to figure out how to sort things out without potentially harming your future career.

As you strolled through the park, you found a nearby bench and sat down, letting yourself get lost in the sunset. The sounds of the crowd around you blurred into the background, offering a momentary escape from your thoughts. Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket. It was your mom calling. You accepted the call, bringing the phone to your ear. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” your mom’s voice was warm and comforting. “How have you been? I haven’t heard from you in a short while.”

You sighed softly, trying to keep your tone light. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy with what?” she asked, concern lacing her words. “You haven’t told me anything about the results of the initial casting yet.”

You took a deep breath and pursed your lips, deciding to share the good news. “I got a callback. It means I’m in for the second round of evaluation, which will be held this Friday.”

Your mom’s initial reaction was one of joy. “That’s wonderful, dear! I’m so proud of you!” But then she seemed to sense your hesitation. “You don’t sound too excited about it. What’s wrong?”

You brushed off her concern, not wanting to worry her. “It’s just been a long week.”

She paused for a moment, clearly wanting to press further, but then she relented. “Alright, just remember to take a break if you need one. You don’t have to push yourself too hard.”

“Thanks, Mom,” you replied, feeling a bit more at ease. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Take care of yourself. I’ve got to go now—the house chores won’t finish themselves.”

You ended the call and put the phone back in your pocket, letting out a sigh you didn’t even know you were holding. As the sky started to darken, you decided it was time to head home. Standing up, you began walking back, lost in your thoughts. Just as fate would have it, as you were making your way home, you spotted Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and another friend of theirs—someone you had seen with the casting directors during the initial casting—on the other side of the street. Your eyes widened in panic.

Seonghwa seemed to notice you first, raising his hand to wave. Before he could get your attention, a bus passed by, and you used the opportunity to dart in the opposite direction, hoping to stay out of sight. Your heart pounded as you hurried away, not daring to look back. When the bus moved on, you were no longer on the other side of the street. Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and Wooyoung stood there, puzzled.

“Where’d she go?” Wooyoung asked, glancing around.

Seonghwa shrugged, looking equally confused. “Beats me. She’s probably in a hurry.”

You continue running until you reach your apartment building, pausing to catch your breath before entering. Your heart is pounding, not just from the exertion, but from the adrenaline of your narrow escape. Once inside, you lean against the wall of the lobby, trying to steady your nerves and slow your racing thoughts.

As you approach your apartment, you are met with an unusual sight: Pompidou, the mischievous cat of a fellow tenant, Monsieur Frank, is lying peacefully in front of your door. It’s rare to see the usually rambunctious feline so calm. Cooing softly, you crouch down and slowly extend your hand towards Pompidou, ready to pull back if the cat resists. Much to your surprise, Pompidou looks up and begins nuzzling its head against your palm, purring contentedly.

“Hey there, Pompidou,” you say softly. “What brings you here today? Are you on an adventure? I hope you’re not planning on scratching my door again, or are you?” You scratch its head a few times, smiling at the unexpected affection, but your knees soon start to ache, reminding you that you need to head inside. Unlocking the door with your keys, you push it open, only to find Pompidou following you inside.

Worried that Frank might panic over his missing cat, you try to gently lead Pompidou back outside. “Come on, little guy, let’s get you back to Frank. He must be worried,” you say, but the cat has other plans and darts further into your apartment instead.

Chuckling, you shake your head and playfully call out, “Want to play a game of tag?” Even though you know the cat can’t understand, you chase it around the room with light-hearted enthusiasm.

“Pompidou, come back here! You’re going to make me late for... well, for worrying about everything,” you say, laughing amidst your frustration.

Eventually, Pompidou finds its way into your bedroom. As you laugh at the cat’s antics, your laughter abruptly stops when you see Pompidou circling Hongjoong’s sketchbook on your desk. You sigh softly, walking over to sit down on the chair in front of your desk, watching as Pompidou finally settles down beside the sketchbook. You gently caress its head and ask, “Why did your owner name you Pompidou?” The cat purrs in response, making you chuckle softly. “I’m not making fun of you. I’m just curious. Honestly, if anything, it suits you pretty well.”

“Why are you so mischievous?” you continue. “Always messing around with Madame Dupont’s garden and getting into trouble with all the other tenants. Do you like seeing them all flustered? I swear, every time I see Madame Dupont, she’s grumbling about you digging up her flowers. And last week, Monsieur Bernard was ranting about you knocking over his trash cans. You’re quite the troublemaker, aren’t you?” you say with a smile.

“Do you know how much trouble you’re causing, Pompidou? Just like me, it seems,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ve got this sketchbook here, and it belongs to a very important man. I didn’t mean to take it, but now… now I’m stuck.” The nerves from today’s encounter begin to creep up again as you confide in Pompidou about the whole situation with Hongjoong. “I want to give it back, I really do,” you continue, your voice dropping to a whisper. “But what if he’s angry? What if he thinks I stole it on purpose? My career could be over before it even starts.”

Just then, Pompidou gets off the desk and jumps into your lap, its paws kneading your chest back and forth. The gesture nearly brings tears to your eyes, and you look at the cat with a heartfelt gaze, continuing to caress its head. “You’re a sweet kitty, Pompidou. Do you think things will work out? Maybe I’m overthinking this,” you say, trying to reassure yourself. “Or maybe not. I don’t know anymore.”

Suddenly, you hear the faint sound of Frank calling out for Pompidou from the hallway. The cat’s ears twitch at the sound, and it looks up at you, seemingly understanding the call. “That’s your cue,” you say softly. “Time to head back to your owner.”

Standing up, you carry Pompidou in your arms. “Let’s go, little guy,” you whisper as you walk to the door. Opening it, you set the cat down on the hallway floor. “Stay out of trouble, okay?” you add, bidding it farewell and closing the door behind you.

Inside, the apartment feels a bit emptier without the mischievous cat, but you take a deep breath, trying to focus on the upcoming callback and the challenges ahead. Sitting back down at your desk, you look at the sketchbook and then at the empty room, a heavy sigh escaping your lips.

You wish things were simpler, but in reality, they’re anything but such.

—

You find yourself back in the waiting room, but this time, the atmosphere is different. The room is nearly empty, with only a few models left who, like you, have made it past the initial round. Clutching your new portfolio filled with the photos the casting directors requested, you sit down, anxiously glancing around the room and fiddling with your fingers. The anticipation in the air is palpable.

The evaluation starts, and models are called in one by one. With every name called and every person who leaves the room, your turn feels like it’s creeping closer. Your heart races, your palms sweaty, and you try to focus on steadying your breath. The fewer people left, the more your anxiety grows, until finally, the inevitable arrives, and your name is called.

You stand up, nerves bubbling in your stomach as you walk into the room. Facing a panel of casting directors, photographers, and the creative director, Hongjoong, you take a deep breath. Seonghwa is there, offering you a reassuring smile, and you notice the man they were with two days ago, now holding a camera. He seems to be one of their photographers.

“A pleasant morning to you,” one of the casting directors begins. “We’re glad to see you again. Let’s start by introducing ourselves.” Each panel member introduces themselves, and you discover that the man you saw with Seonghwa and Hongjoong two days ago is named Wooyoung.

“Thank you for having me,” you respond, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Please, show us your portfolio and tell us a bit about your journey,” another casting director instructs. You present your portfolio to the panel, accompanying it with a brief but passionate description of your aspirations.

“I grew up in a small foreign town, Arcadia Bay, far from the exquisite streets of Paris,” you begin, your voice wavering slightly but growing stronger as you continue. “Ever since I was young, I dreamt of something bigger—an adventure, a new life. Moving to Paris was my way of chasing that dream. I left everything behind, knowing that this city held the opportunities I was searching for.” You swallow, feeling the panel’s eyes on you, encouraging you to continue.

“I have no experience in modeling, but fashion and photography have always been one of the things I have a fond sense of admiration for. Then, one day, as I was walking down Rue de la Paix during my first week here, Seonghwa found me. It felt like a turning point—the moment I had been waiting for. Seonghwa saw something in me that I didn’t even see in myself, and he encouraged me to take a chance, to believe that I could be more.” The panel listens intently, and you notice a few nods of approval. Hongjoong’s eyes seem to light up with curiosity, and Seonghwa’s supportive smile reassures you.

“Your passion is evident,” says one of the casting directors. “It’s refreshing to hear someone speak so earnestly about their dreams.”

The casting team then takes simple Polaroid shots of you, capturing your natural, unedited state. The panel instructs you to pose for photos, and Wooyoung takes the lead, directing you with a professional yet friendly demeanor. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got,” Wooyoung says, positioning his camera. “Just relax and be yourself. Show us different sides of your personality.”

You follow his instructions, moving through a series of poses. You start with a confident, bold stance, then shift to a softer, more vulnerable look. You feel the tension in your body easing slightly as you focus on Wooyoung’s directions. “Great, now let’s try something that shows your inner strength,” Wooyoung suggests, encouraging you to channel the determination and resilience that brought you to Paris. You let out a genuine smile, thinking about how far you’ve come and the obstacles you've overcome. The room feels less intimidating with each click of the camera.

After the photo session, the panel provides immediate feedback. They exchange glances and murmur among themselves before addressing you. “Thank you for sharing your story,” one of the casting directors says. “We’re impressed with your passion and the natural talent you’ve shown today. It’s clear that you have a strong sense of self and an eagerness to learn and grow.”

Another casting director adds, “Your poses were confident and versatile, and you took direction well. It’s evident that you have potential, and we appreciate the sincerity you brought to this session.”

Hongjoong nods in agreement. “Your story is inspiring, and it’s always exciting to see someone with such raw talent and determination. We’ll be reviewing all the candidates and making our final decisions based on today’s performance, but I wanted to let you know that your dedication has not gone unnoticed.”

You nod, expressing your heartfelt gratitude to the panel for the opportunity. As you gather your things and prepare to leave, you can’t help but feel a whirlwind of emotions coursing through your body—relief from having successfully completed the evaluation, and anticipation mixed with lingering nerves about what the outcome might be. Your heart is pounding, echoing loudly in your ears as you stand up from the chair. You take a moment to steady yourself, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything. Carefully, you close your portfolio, securing it under your arm, and take a deep breath to calm your racing thoughts. The journey back to the waiting room feels like a blur, your mind replaying every moment of the evaluation, analyzing each word and gesture.

Entering the waiting room, you notice it’s even emptier than before. The models who finished their evaluations have left, and only a handful of others remain, either waiting their turn or gathering their belongings. You walk over to where you had been sitting, the spot now feeling strangely familiar and comforting after the intensity of the casting room. You quickly collect your bag, hands slightly trembling with the residual adrenaline. The weight of your belongings feels grounding, a tangible connection to reality amidst the haze of your thoughts. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you take one last look around the room, almost as if searching for some sign of reassurance or validation.

Pushing open the heavy doors of the building, you step out into the fresh air, the cool breeze hitting your face and providing a welcome contrast to the stuffy interior. The city noise greets you—honking cars, distant chatter, the rhythmic clatter of footsteps on the pavement—all grounding you further in the present moment. Just as you begin to descend the steps, a voice calls out your name from behind.

“Wait!”

Your immediate instinct is to ignore it, the adrenaline pushing you forward, wanting to escape the intensity of the day. Your steps quicken, the sound of your name echoing in your ears, mingling with the cacophony of the street. The voice persists, but you force yourself to focus on the path ahead, eyes fixed on the horizon as you make your way towards the sanctuary of your own space. The city feels like it’s rushing by, each step taking you further from the anxiety of the evaluation and closer to a place where you can breathe and reflect as the voice fades into the background.

On your way back home, your phone suddenly rings from inside your bag. You rummage through your belongings, pulling out your phone to see a message notification from Seonghwa.

Have you already left the building?

You quickly type out a response.

Yes, I have.

Why? Was it you calling me earlier?

A moment later, his reply comes through.

Earlier? No, I’m still here with the casting directors.

Did something happen?

Confusion settles in. If Seonghwa wasn’t the one calling you, then who was it? Not wanting to delve deeper into the mystery right now, you settle with a vague reply.

No, don’t worry about it.

After hitting the send button, you shut your phone and tuck it back into your bag, continuing your steps. As you reach your apartment building, you’re greeted by a familiar, pleasant surprise—Pompidou. The mischievous cat sits by the entrance, its bright eyes peering up at you. The street is bustling just a few steps away, making you worry for the little feline’s safety. You waste no time bending down to scoop him up, lightly scolding, “Pompidou, you can’t stay outside like this. It’s dangerous!”

Pompidou responds with a soft meow, and you can’t help but laugh lightly at its endearing nature. Setting it down once you’re inside the building, you begin walking toward your apartment. However, you stop in your tracks when you feel the light brush of a cat’s fur against your legs. Looking down, you see Pompidou trailing right behind you, its tail flicking playfully. Crossing your arms, you chuckle, “You’re not planning on lounging in my room and worrying your poor owner again, are you?”

Pompidou circles around your leg, his silent response making you sigh in playful defeat. “Alright, alright. Come on, then,” you say, allowing him to follow you.

Once you’re in front of your door, you unlock it and let it enter first, soon following after and shutting the door behind you. You slip off your shoes and set your bag down on the living room couch. Exhausted, you sit down, throwing your head back against the couch’s headrest, staring up at the ceiling as the weight of the day begins to settle on you.

Pompidou, never one to miss an opportunity for affection, climbs onto your lap, snapping you out of your thoughts. You begin patting its head, its purrs vibrating softly under your hand. “You know, little guy,” you start, your voice a quiet murmur in the stillness of your apartment. “Today was... something else.”

Pompidou’s eyes blink up at you, its soft gaze encouraging you to continue. “The callback was nerve-wracking. I presented my portfolio, and they took some photos. Wooyoung—turns out that’s the name of the guy I saw with Seonghwa and Hongjoong—he was one of the photographers. They gave me feedback, and... well, it’s all in their hands now.”

You pause, scratching behind Pompidou’s ears. “Honestly, I never imagined I’d be here, in Paris, doing this. It feels like just yesterday I was in Arcadia Bay, working at a diner while dreaming of a new life. Then Seonghwa found me at Rue de la Paix and changed everything. It feels like a turning point I’ve been waiting for my whole life.”

Pompidou shifts, its paws pressing against your leg as if to comfort you. You smile softly. “But it’s scary, too. What if I’m not good enough? What if I can’t handle the pressure? And then there’s Hongjoong’s sketchbook... I still haven’t figured out how to give it back to him. It’s like it’s a huge secret weighing me down.”

Pompidou nuzzles its head against your hand, its purring intensifying. You let out a small laugh. “You’re right, Pompidou. I shouldn’t let it consume me. One step at a time, right?” You continue to pet the feline, feeling a bit of the day’s tension melt away. “You’re such a good listener, you know that? Even if you don’t understand a word I’m saying and probably think I’m out of my mind.”

The cat’s eyes close in contentment, his purring a steady, soothing rhythm. “I wish I could be as carefree as you, Pompidou. Just wandering around, finding joy in the little things,” you begin, “but maybe that’s what I need to do—find joy in the small victories and not get too caught up in the what-ifs. Yet for me to be able to reach the highs, I need to survive the lows first. I just hope all of this will be worth it in time.”

🪞 — lividstar.

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Five: Consequences

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎< previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 8k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ During the high-stakes fashion casting, you impress the judges but are later alarmed to discover that the agency’s influential creative director is the owner of the sketchbook that not only did you accidentally take home, yet also used one of its designs as inspiration for your attire, leaving you fearful about the potential consequences for your budding career. As the weight of this realization sinks in, you can't help but worry how you would entangle the knots of the predicament you’re now under.

a/n: there’s a subtle dbh and lis reference somewhere in here

tags: @beabatiny

The days leading up to the casting were a whirlwind of activity. Madame Dupont worked diligently on your dress, transforming the sketch into a beautiful reality. Each evening, you found yourself in the cozy confines of her room, watching in awe as she expertly sewed the intricate lace details and made adjustments to ensure the dress fit you perfectly.

Tonight was now the last day before the casting’s designated schedule, and as usual, you were busying yourself with watching her add the final touches to your attire. “You see, dear, it’s all about the details,” she began, her fingers deftly threading a needle. “Every stitch, every seam must be perfect. It’s what sets apart a good dress from a great one.”

You nodded, fascinated by her skill and patience. She had described sewing to you as one of her hobbies that keeps her grounded, but seeing her in action, your viewpoint slowly started to shift into something deeper. Sewing no longer seemed to just have been something she could use to pass time—it was a profession she seemed to be heavily passionate about. “I never realized how much work goes into making a dress. It’s truly an art.”

Madame Dupont smiled warmly. “It is, indeed. And just like with any art, it requires passion and dedication. Much like your modeling, I imagine.” You’ve spent many hours like this with her during the past few days, sharing both anecdotes and advice. Madame Dupont regaled you with tales from her youth, often making you laugh with her witty anecdotes.

As a comfortable wind of silence surrounded the room, you couldn’t help but let your curiosity get the best of you while you were watching her work her wonders on the dress she had insisted on making for you. “Madame Dupont, I have to ask... is this hobby of yours rooted from something deeper?”

She gently set the halfway done piece of fabric down on her desk, turning on her seat lightly to face you. “You managed to see right through me, dear. Yes, it is.” Seeing how you leaned in closer as if attempting to imply you wanted to hear more of it, she chuckled. “Back in my youth, I used to love fashion. I’ve always seen it as not just a concept about making outfits and plastering them on models to showcase on runways, rather, a unique way to express one’s creativity and wide knowledge capacity of art. Intricate designs, especially those who hold a deep story within, never failed to attract me like a moth to a flame. So, when I stepped foot into college, I headed straight to the path of becoming an art student.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. You’ve always thought of Madame Dupont as a woman who had a lot going on with her life, but hearing this specific portion of it wasn’t something you could say you have expected. “Really? That sounds wonderful and admirable, Madame Dupont. No wonder you were so adamant on helping me out on my casting,” you lightly joked, making both your laughters blend in with each other. Eventually, though, your tone shifted into one that’s more serious and perhaps a little cautious. “But... why didn’t you pursue your dream?”

Madame Dupont sighed, a look of longing in her eyes. “My family and I weren’t financially stable enough to keep me walking on that path. At first, I thought of it as nothing but an obstacle, and I even tried juggling multiple part-time jobs at once just so I wouldn’t entirely lose my grip on the ambition I’ve been wanting to reach ever since I was young. But as time passed, I slowly started to realize it was impossible. I couldn’t keep balancing multiple occupations at once until I graduated, and the look of pain in my parents’ eyes whenever I tried to convince them we just had to work a little harder to achieve my dream became unbearable through every passing day.”

It was heavily painful to you hearing her words, not because you found yourself wondering how things would’ve turned out for her if she and her family were under different circumstances, but you could also relate to the experience of not being able to achieve lifelong dreams over inevitable events. There was a lot you wanted to tell her, but you kept yourself silent, allowing her to let it all out.

“I felt like such a fool back then, dear. Mourning the life I lost that was never mine to begin with... it was a really tough experience for me. When I had to give up on my ambition and settle on something we could afford and manage with, I couldn’t stop thinking, ‘What if the world was a little nicer to me? Would I have been able to permanently hold onto what I’ve always wanted?’ And even up till now, it’s still a recurring thought in my head. If things were fated to turn out how I wished them to, would I be in a studio instead of the confines of my room right now?”

You couldn’t help but resonate with her words further. Having experienced what she went through during her youth was something you could easily tell wasn’t easy to get over with, especially since you’ve already had to face a similar situation—the details weren’t spot-on, yet the idea was.

Before you could speak, she leaned forward to take your hand in hers, gently caressing it. “And that’s exactly why I didn’t hesitate to offer you a helping hand the moment you told me about your first step in your new potential career. Because if I couldn’t achieve my dream before, then I’m fine with settling on helping someone else achieve theirs.”

“Madame Dupont, I...” Tears started welling up in your eyes, but she was quick to gently wipe them away before they could fall down. Who would’ve thought her offer held such depth underneath? “This means the whole world to me, thank you so much.” Seeing how her eyes flickered to the fabric laid down on the table, you were quick to shake your head. “No, no, not that. I mean, it’s just that hearing you comfortably sharing your story with me when you haven’t even known me for longer than a month is just...”

“Oh, dear. Don’t you start crying now, or else I’ll stop making this dress for you,” she scolded jokingly, making a broken chuckle come out of your mouth. “But seriously, though, there’s no need for you to let out those tears. If anything, I should be thanking you. Because in a way, you’re letting me live out my lifelong dream. It feels like I’m actually sewing a dress for a model—which I am, technically.”

You smiled, feeling the weight of her words. “Thank you, Madame Dupont. For everything.”

She patted your hand gently. “Now, let’s finish this dress. We have a casting to prepare for, and I have no doubt you’re going to shine.”

After a short while, Madame Dupont finally finished adding the final touches to the outfit. You looked at it in awe, marveling at how perfectly it mirrored the design from the sketchbook. Madame Dupont carefully set down her sewing tools, her eyes filled with a mixture of pride and anticipation. “So? What do you think about it?” she asked, her voice soft yet eager.

“It’s so… I don’t even know what to say. It looks gorgeous and well-made, like it’s…” you trailed off, unable to both find the right words and to contain your excitement and gratitude. The craftsmanship was impeccable, each stitch a testament to her skill and dedication. You moved to hug her, and she was surprised for a second before wrapping her arms around you warmly. Her embrace was comforting, and you could feel the genuine affection she held for you.

“Why don’t you go try it on and see what it looks like?” she suggested, her eyes sparkling. She pointed you to the bathroom in her apartment where you could change, her expression one of encouraging support. You carefully took the dress, handling it with the utmost care as you walked to the bathroom. The soft fabric felt luxurious under your fingers, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of reverence for the garment. Slipping out of your clothes, you delicately put on the dress, feeling the fabric glide smoothly over your skin. It enveloped you in its lightness and grace and fit perfectly, as if it had been made just for you. Well, in a literal context, it was, but right now it felt deeper than that.

As you looked at yourself in the small bathroom mirror, you couldn’t help but smile. When you were ready, you headed back to where Madame Dupont was waiting. You stepped into the room with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, twirling around so she could see the dress in motion. The fabric swirled around you, catching the light in a way that made the lace details shimmer. “Does it look good?” you asked, your voice bubbling with excitement.

Madame Dupont’s eyes shone with pride and satisfaction. “Good? Oh, dear, it looks perfect,” she said, her tone filled with warmth. “You look like a model already.”

“Really?” you asked, your heart swelling with happiness and disbelief. The compliment meant the world to you, especially coming from someone as experienced as Madame Dupont.

“Go look at yourself in the mirror,” she urged, pointing to the full-body length mirror on her wall. You walked over to it, anticipation building with each step. As you stood in front of it and took in your reflection, you nearly squealed with delight. The dress was everything you had hoped for and more. It accentuated your presence, making you feel confident and beautiful. Even though you had worn styled outfits before, you had never felt so much like yourself until now. The dress felt so... you. It was as if it had been made not just for your body, but for your spirit.

The color palette complemented your essence perfectly, and the off-shoulder neckline highlighted your graceful aura. The lace details were delicate and intricate, adding a touch of sophistication and elegance. As you moved, the fabric flowed around you effortlessly, making you feel as though you were gliding. You felt like some sort of a princess from a fantasy movie, like you were living a faded childhood dream.

“Thank you so much, Madame Dupont,” you said, turning to her with a grateful smile. Your eyes were, once more, filled with tears of joy and appreciation, but you held them back, not wanting to ruin the moment. “I can’t wait for the casting tomorrow.”

Madame Dupont walked over to you, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You’ll do wonderfully, dear,” she assured you, her voice filled with reassurance. “Now, get some rest. Tomorrow is your big day.”

—

It’s now the day you’ve been waiting for. You woke up a few minutes earlier than your alarm, and a mix of nerves and excitement buzzed through you. Deciding to reach out to your parents for some much-needed encouragement, you initiate a video call. Almost immediately, they pick up, and you’re greeted with their wide smiles, their eyes twinkling with anticipation.

“Good morning!” your mother exclaims, her voice warm and cheerful. “Morning, darling!” your father echoes, his tone equally enthusiastic.

You can’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. “You two seem livelier than usual,” you say, raising an eyebrow playfully. Had they woken up long ago?

Your mother laughs softly. “Well, we can’t help it, especially since it’s your big day today.”

“Have you been waiting for me to call you the whole time?” you tease, a grin spreading across your face. It wasn’t entirely out of character for them to do such a thing. After all, they never fail to show their anticipation when it comes to you finally reaching everything you aim to achieve.

“How could we not?” your father replies, chuckling. “We’re just as excited as you are, if not more.”

Their excitement is infectious, and it eases some of your nervousness. Remembering the dress Madame Dupont made for you, you suddenly feel a surge of both pride and excitement. “Oh, wait right there,” you say, standing up from your bed. “I want to show you what I’ll be wearing today.”

You prop the phone on your desk and walk over to your closet. Carefully, you retrieve the dress from its hanger and hold it up to the camera. The intricate lace details, the soft pastel hues, and the delicate off-shoulder design all come together to create a masterpiece. Your mother gasps in delight. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s beautiful! It fits you and your vibe perfectly.”

Your father nods, his eyes twinkling with approval. “It looks stunning. That dress seems like it was made for you, huh?” he joked, but had his jaw nearly get dropped when you nodded in confirmation. “Wait, it was?”

“Yup. My landlord offered to sew it for me,” you explained, holding the dress closer to the camera to show them the hidden details. “Look at how well-crafted it is. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Once you saw them smiling and nodding and approval, you felt yourself become satisfied. You then carefully place the dress back on the hanger and return it to your closet. Sitting down again, you feel a bit more relaxed but still slightly anxious. “I’m still so nervous, though,” you admit, looking down at your hands.

Your parents exchange a knowing glance before turning their supportive gazes back to you. “Nerves are normal,” your father reassures you. “Just remember how hard you’ve worked to get here. You deserve this opportunity.”

“And no matter what happens and however things turn out, we are incredibly proud of you,” your mother adds. “Just go out there and be yourself. Show them the wonderful person we know you are.”

“I’ll do my best to keep that in mind.” You smile at them, then glance at the digital clock on your bedside table and realize it’s time to start getting ready. “I should probably start getting ready now,” you say, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement building up inside you.

“Good luck, sweetheart. We love you,” your mother says, blowing you a kiss through the screen as your father holds a thumbs-up to the camera.

“I love you both,” you reply, your voice softening with affection. “Thank you for always being there for me.” With a final wave, you end the call. Their words of encouragement echo in your mind, giving you the strength and confidence you need to face the day ahead. The nerves were still there—you’re entirely convinced they’re never gonna go away at this point, but compared to before, you’re pretty sure you’ve gained enough confidence for the casting right now.

Just as you were about to stand up and begin your morning routine, your phone, which you now laid down on your desk’s surface, rang with the sound of a message notification. Picking it up, a smile graces your lips as you read Seonghwa’s contact number.

Good morning! Today’s the day. Hope you still remember?

You let out a soft laugh of amusement. For the past few days, it’s been Seonghwa’s thing to keep in check with you and make sure you were still up for the casting. It was funny yet also endearing how he seems to really want you to attend. Did you really hold that much potential in his eyes? Whether you’ll get accepted or not would be the answer.

Can’t say I don’t.

I blame my constant palpitations on the casting, actually.

From the other side of the screen, there was Seonghwa, lounging on his office chair while he was occupied with both paperwork and conversing with you. He’s well aware he’s probably coming off way too paranoid by reminding you of the casting nearly everyday, but you were just a diamond in the rough he couldn’t afford to let escape from his grasp. Not when you have so much potential he could make the best out of.

Oops. Sorry… not sorry?

Also, I know I’m asking this a bit too late but

Can I ask what your name is?

You let out a hum of surprise. He hasn’t asked for that yet? Although you were sure you’d already mentioned your name to him at some point… Well, he wouldn’t be asking you this question had the truth been on your side, so maybe your memory’s deceiving you. After nearly a minute of contemplating, your fingers tapped the letters of your name on the keyboard, soon then sending it. His response caught you by surprise.

Even your name is pretty!

It’s also really cool :)

Chuckling, you quickly typed out a response—you still needed to get ready, after all.

You think so?

Thanks, Seonghwa.

Also, no emoji!

With that, you turned off your phone, placing it back on your desk before standing up and stepping into the shower. The day has yet to begin.

Meanwhile, Seonghwa, who is in his office on one of the higher floors of the building, stood up from his chair, stretching his arms above his head as he walked over to the large window. The view of the street below reveals a growing line of aspiring models, each one buzzing with anticipation. Some of them were personally casted by him, while others came on their own, drawn by the promise of a new opportunity. Despite their different paths, they all share the same goal: to make a name for themselves in the world of fashion.

As Seonghwa observes the scene, he can’t help but feel a mixture of excitement and nervousness. The casting is a significant event, not just for the models but for him as well. It’s a chance to discover fresh talent and bring new faces to the forefront of the industry. Just then, the door to his office swings open with a loud bang, and Wooyoung bursts in, his voice booming with enthusiasm. “Rise and shine! Get up, buttercup!” he exclaims, far too loudly for the early hour. Seonghwa turns around, raising an eyebrow in mild annoyance.

“Wooyoung, it’s not even past late morning hours yet and yet you’re already causing a scene. Must you be so loud right now?” he scolds, picking up a folder—again—and pretending to throw it at him.

Wooyoung laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I’ll keep it down,” he says, a grin plastered on his face. He doesn’t wait for an invitation and immediately lounges in Seonghwa’s chair, spinning around like a child.

Seonghwa just sighs, shaking his head as he turns back to the window. “You’re incorrigible,” he mutters under his breath, though there’s a hint of amusement in his voice.

After nearly ten dizzying spins, Wooyoung finally stops, looking a bit green. “Okay, that was a bad idea,” he mumbles to himself. He then drags the chair, wheels squeaking, over to where Seonghwa stands. Both of them look down at the line of hopefuls below.

“There’s a lot of them, huh?” Wooyoung muses, more to himself than to Seonghwa. “I can’t wait to see which ones will get in. It’s not up to me anyway, so I’ll just be watching from the sidelines with you, Hongjoong, and the casting directors.”

Seonghwa nods slightly, still gazing at the scene outside. “It’s always interesting to see who stands out,” he says quietly. “Each one of them has something unique to offer. It’s just a matter of seeing who can bring that uniqueness to life on the runway.”

Wooyoung hums in agreement, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare moment of contemplation. “Do you think any of them will surprise us?” he asks, glancing at Seonghwa.

“Always,” Seonghwa replies, a small smile appearing on his lips. “That’s the beauty of these castings. You never know who will walk through those doors and leave a lasting impression.”

Wooyoung leans back in the chair, crossing his arms behind his head. “Y’know, I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be in their shoes,” he says thoughtfully. “The nerves, the excitement, the pressure. It must be intense.”

“It truly is. We can only go as far as we can imagine,” Seonghwa agrees. “But that’s what makes it all the more rewarding. When they eventually succeed in their path and walk down those runways and see the admiration in the audience’s eyes, it’s all worth it.”

“Speaking of which, have you seen Hongjoong this morning?” Wooyoung asks, changing the subject. “He still seemed pretty down last night about his sketchbook when I took him out to eat.”

Seonghwa sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, he’s been really stressed about it. That sketchbook means a lot to him. Apparently, according to him, losing it feels like losing a part of himself.”

Wooyoung nods sympathetically. “I get that. I just hope he can find it or at least come to terms with it. He’s got so much talent, so it would really be a shame for something like this to hold him back.” He leans back in the chair, still gazing at the line of aspiring models outside. “So, about the girl from Rue de la Paix,” he begins, a hint of curiosity in his voice. “Did you ever get her name?”

Seonghwa glances over his shoulder, eyes narrowing slightly. “I did,” he replies cautiously.

“And what is it?” Wooyoung asks, leaning forward in anticipation.

“Why do you need to know that?” Seonghwa counters, turning fully to face his friend. There’s a playful yet protective edge to his tone, as if he’s guarding a precious secret. It wasn’t like he didn’t want to let Wooyoung know your name, he just liked to tease the younger man often.

Wooyoung shrugs, a nonchalant smile on his face. “I’m just curious. I want to know which one of the models attending today’s casting is her.”

Seonghwa doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he walks back to his desk, his mind clearly made up about not divulging the information. Wooyoung, undeterred, struggles with the chair’s wheels as he attempts to follow. The squeaky protest of the wheels against the floor echoes in the spacious office.

“Are you not telling me because it’s confidential, or because you just don’t want to?” Wooyoung presses, finally managing to maneuver the chair closer to Seonghwa’s desk—not before nearly stumbling over and falling down to the ground face-flat first.

“A little bit of both,” Seonghwa admits with a shrug, his lips curling into a faint smile. Wooyoung groans dramatically, leaning back in the chair with exaggerated disappointment. Seonghwa watches him with amusement, shaking his head slightly.

“Come on, Hwa,” Wooyoung whines. “Just a hint?”

Seonghwa’s smile widens, and he leans forward, resting his hands on his desk. “I’ll make sure to tell you when it’s her turn at the casting,” he says, a glint of teasing in his eyes.

Wooyoung instantly brightens at this, sitting up straight. “Really? You promise?”

“Promise,” Seonghwa confirms, patting Wooyoung on the back. “Now, get off my chair before I throw you out the window.”

Wooyoung laughs, pushing himself out of the chair with exaggerated reluctance. “Fine, fine. But I’m holding you to that promise,” he says, wagging a finger at Seonghwa.

Seonghwa chuckles, shaking his head as he watches Wooyoung retreat. “You truly are insufferable,” he mutters, though there’s a fondness in his voice that betrays his words.

Wooyoung winks at him, making his way to the door. “And don’t you forget it!”

As Wooyoung leaves, Seonghwa turns back to the window, watching as the line outside continues to grow. The anticipation is electric, each model radiating a mix of nerves and excitement. Today was going to be a significant day, not just for them, but for him as well. Eventually, he decided to settle back into his chair. The morning sun streamed through the glass walls, casting a warm glow over his sleek, modern workspace. He reached for the stack of portfolios on his desk, each one representing the dreams and ambitions of aspiring models.

He flipped open the first portfolio, revealing the work of Kara. Her portfolio was meticulously organized, with high-quality photographs showcasing her versatility. Kara had a striking look, with an elegant poise that shone through in every image. Her resume detailed her extensive experience in runway shows and high-fashion editorials. She had a background in ballet, which explained her graceful movements and impeccable posture. Seonghwa nodded in appreciation, noting her potential for the upcoming show.

The next portfolio belonged to Connor. His photos exuded a cool, polished charm. Connor’s piercing gaze and chiseled features made him a standout in the world of male modeling. His portfolio included a range of styles, from casual streetwear to sophisticated suits. Seonghwa noticed a particular emphasis on tech-inspired fashion, which intrigued him. Connor’s resume revealed his background in acting, adding another layer of depth to his modeling skills. Seonghwa could see Connor’s potential for both the runway and more conceptual shoots.

The third portfolio was that of Markus. His images radiated a raw, magnetic energy. Markus had a unique look, with a rugged edge that set him apart. His portfolio showcased a variety of high-impact editorial shots, where his powerful presence commanded attention. Seonghwa admired Markus’s ability to convey intense emotions through his eyes and body language. His resume highlighted his involvement in various social justice campaigns, which added a sense of purpose to his modeling career. Seonghwa made a mental note of Markus's potential for more provocative, statement-making pieces.

After thoroughly examining these portfolios, Seonghwa finally reached yours, which you had given to him yesterday. He opened it carefully, revealing a collection of images that immediately caught his eye. Your portfolio was a blend of ethereal elegance and down-to-earth charm. The photographs showcased a range of styles, from flowing, delicate dresses to modern, structured outfits. Each image highlighted your ability to adapt to different looks while maintaining a unique, captivating aura. Your resume, though less extensive than some of the others, reflected a genuine passion for modeling and a determination to make your mark in the industry.

Just then, Seonghwa’s phone buzzed with a message. He glanced at the screen and saw it was from you, asking if the casting had started yet and letting him know you were on your way. As if on cue, there was a knock on his door. One of the casting directors poked their head in, informing him that it’s about to begin before leaving shortly after.

It’s about to.

Why? Are you not here yet?

He then closed your portfolio with a thoughtful smile and slipped his phone into the pocket of his tailored pants. Rising from his chair, he made his way to the casting area, anticipation building within him. Once he reached his destination, he settled into a seat in the middle of Wooyoung and Hongjoong, along with a few other casting directors. The room buzzed with anticipation, a mix of excited chatter and the occasional nervous glance from the models waiting their turn.

As Seonghwa sat down, Wooyoung turned to him and Hongjoong with a playful grin. “Big day, right? Always exciting to see who might be the next big star.”

Hongjoong nodded in agreement, already expecting a lot for the day. “We’ve got a solid line-up today. I’m looking forward to seeing how they perform. It’s one thing to look good in photos and another to command the runway.”

Seonghwa leaned back in his chair, taking in the room’s energy. “You’re on point with that. It’s all about presence. You can tell a lot about a model by how they carry themselves.”

The casting director to Hongjoong’s left chimed in. “And it’s not just about walking. It’s the confidence, the ability to connect with the audience. We’re looking for someone who can truly bring the clothes to life.”

As they continued discussing their expectations and hopes for the casting, Hongjoong turned to Seonghwa. “By the way, is she here yet? The girl you casted in Rue de la Paix?”

Seonghwa took out his phone and read a recent message from you saying you were nearly there. He quickly typed a response, telling you to hurry, then put his phone away. “Almost. She’s on her way.”

The casting then began, each model stepping onto the runway with varying degrees of confidence. The first model moved with a fluid grace that was captivating. Her steps were measured, her posture impeccable, and the way she carried herself spoke volumes of her experience. The casting directors exchanged approving glances, making notes on their tablets.

Next was a male model whose cool, polished demeanor immediately caught the eye. His walk was deliberate, every movement exuding a calm, collected energy. The way he held himself, with just the right amount of charisma, showcased his versatility. He had a way of engaging with the audience, making each person feel as though he was walking just for them.

A third model brought a raw, magnetic presence to the runway. Her movements were powerful, almost theatrical, each step filled with purpose. The intensity in her eyes and the confident sway of her shoulders commanded attention, leaving a lasting impression on everyone watching. Seonghwa exchanged a look with Hongjoong, both clearly impressed.

Meanwhile, you were doing your best to hurry to the building without ending up looking disheveled. You reached the entrance, slightly out of breath, and quickly took out your phone to text Seonghwa, asking how to get to the casting area. Seonghwa received the notification and sighed in relief upon reading your message, quickly giving you directions. Inside, you found the waiting room and were relieved to see there were still three models in line before you. You took advantage of the time, lounging in the waiting room to catch your breath and fix yourself up. The anticipation built up as you watched the other models go, each with their unique style and presence.

Finally, it was your turn. As you stepped onto the runway, you felt a mix of nerves and excitement. The room seemed to hold its breath, and you could feel all eyes on you. You nearly let go of your resolve and began considering running away, but you couldn’t back down now, so even if the feeling of being perceived almost felt like claws scratching on your skin, you did all you can to hold out.

The dress Madame Dupont had crafted for you flowed elegantly with each step, its delicate lace details catching the light perfectly. You took a deep breath, centering yourself. Every step you took was purposeful, your head held high, shoulders back. You envisioned the path before you, focusing on exuding the confidence and grace you had practiced. Each stride was smooth, the fabric of your dress fluttering lightly with your movement, giving an ethereal quality to your walk. Your thoughts raced, reminding yourself to maintain your pace and rhythm. You could see the faces of the casting directors, their expressions ranging from curiosity to intrigue. This was your moment, and you intended to make it count.

Seonghwa then nudged Wooyoung, a proud expression on his face. “That’s her,” he said quietly.

Wooyoung turned, his mouth slightly ajar. “That’s her?” He watched you intently, a look of amazement on his face. Seonghwa nodded, proud of himself for recognizing your potential.

Hongjoong, however, seemed lost in thought. “That dress…” he whispered to himself, drawing Seonghwa’s attention.

“See? I told you she’d meet your expectations. Seems the casting directors are already fond of her as well,” Seonghwa said, pointing out how everyone else in the room seemed to have been quite intrigued.

Hongjoong shook his head slightly, “No, that’s not what I…” he trailed off, giving up and deciding to refocus himself on studying the way you moved with a unique sense of confidence he’s certain he hasn’t felt from the others who had just walked the runway you were currently standing on.

You finished your walk and stood at the end of the runway, awaiting feedback. One of the casting directors leaned forward, a warm smile on her lips. “That was quite impressive. Your walk exudes a natural grace, and you have a unique ability to connect with the audience. The way you carried that dress was truly captivating.”

Another casting director nodded in agreement. “Yes, I felt a sense of authenticity in your presence. It’s clear you’re not just walking; you’re telling a story. That’s a rare quality. Not to mention, your versatility is evident. You managed to make the dress come alive, which is exactly what we’re looking for. Your movements were fluid and expressive, and you conveyed an emotion that’s essential for our brand. We need someone who can bring that kind of depth and dimension to the runway.”

Seonghwa exchanged a satisfied glance with Wooyoung and Hongjoong. You had not only met but exceeded their expectations. As you stood there, absorbing the positive feedback, you felt a surge of confidence and pride, knowing that you had made a significant impression on the casting directors. You gave a polite nod and a soft “Thank you,” before turning away from the bright lights of the runway, and beginning your walk backstage. Your heart was pounding with a mix of relief and elation. The backstage area was a hive of activity, with models, assistants, and staff bustling around. You carefully navigated through the crowd, making your way to the waiting room.

Once inside, you found a quiet corner to gather your thoughts. The adrenaline from the casting still coursed through your veins, but you took a moment to breathe deeply, allowing yourself to fully process what had just happened. You have done it. You had walked the runway, presented yourself confidently, and received positive feedback from the casting directors.

Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and the casting directors gathered in a sleek, modern conference room for a debriefing discussion. The walls were lined with mood boards, sketches, and photos from the day's casting. The atmosphere was filled with a mixture of excitement and anticipation as they reviewed the day’s candidates. Wooyoung, the brand’s vibrant and beloved photographer, sat among them. Though he wasn’t technically supposed to be part of these discussions, his charm and keen eye for detail, and, not to mention, how nearly everyone in the workspace was fond of him, had earned him a permanent spot at the table.

“Let’s start with the first model,” one of the casting directors said, flipping open a portfolio. “She had a strong walk and a striking presence. Her portfolio shows a lot of versatility. What do we think?”

Seonghwa nodded, glancing at the portfolio. “She definitely has potential. Her editorial shots are impressive, and she seemed confident on the runway.”

“Agreed,” another casting director added. “Her look is unique, and she knows how to carry herself.” They then moved on to the next model. “This one had a great energy,” they noted. “Her poses were dynamic, and she really engaged with the camera.”

“Yes,” Seonghwa said, smiling. “She has a lot of charisma. I think she’d be fantastic for some of our more lively, energetic campaigns.”

Wooyoung, lounging casually in his chair, chimed in, “I agree. She’d be a lot of fun to shoot. She has that spark.” As the discussion continued, they went through the portfolios and runway performances of several models, each time delving into detailed critiques and praises. They talked about their physical attributes, their runway presence, and their potential fit within the brand’s vision.

Finally, Seonghwa brought up your performance. “So, what do we think about the last model?” he asked, his eyes bright with anticipation.

One of the casting directors leaned forward, her eyes lighting up. “She was remarkable. Her walk was graceful, and she had an ethereal quality that was hard to ignore. Not to mention, her portfolio shows a lot of promise. She has this natural elegance that really stood out.”

Seonghwa’s smile grew wider with each positive comment, nodding in agreement with all of them. The casting director sitting across Seonghwa then noticed his growing smile and asked, “Do you know her personally by any chance?”

Seonghwa shook his head, still smiling. “No, but I met her at Rue de la Paix a while ago and persuaded her to attend today. I had a feeling she’d be a good fit.”

“Well, we’re glad you did that,” another director said, nodding in approval. “She definitely has potential.”

While the group was busy discussing, Hongjoong, who had been silent the entire time, was snapped out of his thoughts when Seonghwa nudged his shoulder lightly. “Hey, what’s on your mind? You look lost,” Seonghwa pointed out.

Hongjoong shook his head, a thoughtful expression on his face. “No, nothing,” he said, standing up. “I need to go to the restroom for a moment.”

As Hongjoong left, Wooyoung turned to Seonghwa, eyebrows raised. “What’s up with him?”

Seonghwa shrugged, equally confused. “No idea.”

Instead of heading to the bathroom, Hongjoong made his way to the waiting room. He knocked twice before entering and was greeted with the sight of you sitting in a corner, looking slightly nervous but composed. You immediately recognized him from the runway and sat up straight, greeting him politely.

You took a moment to take in his appearance and demeanor, noting the serene confidence he exuded. His features were striking, with a sharp jawline and expressive eyes that seemed to see right through you. His aura was both commanding and comforting, a perfect balance for a creative visionary. Yet above it all, one thing’s for sure—he was strikingly gorgeous. Is this how it feels being in an 80’s romance movie and seeing your love interest for the first time?

He then broke the silence by greeting you with a warm smile and introduced himself as the Creative Director of the brand. Upon this newfound information, you felt both nervous and excited as he held out his hand for you to shake. His grip was firm yet gentle, and you could feel the sincerity in his touch.

“You don’t need to introduce yourself,” he said, cutting you off gently just as he sensed you were about to speak. “Seonghwa has already told me quite a lot about you.”

“All good things, I hope?” You tilted your head, a playful expression on your face as you attempted to both lighten the mood further and relax your spirits. Fortunately on your behalf, the comment was enough to make him laugh.

“All good things, don’t worry,” he played along, easing your nerves. “I wasn’t able to give feedback along with the casting directors earlier, so I figured I’d do it now. You did an excellent job out there. Your walk was graceful, and you have a natural elegance that's very captivating.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the praise. “Oh, really? Thank you so much. That means a lot to me."

“Don’t thank me. You should be thanking yourself for being able to exude such an exceptional aura.” He smiled, then continued, “It’s up to the casting directors to decide who will be getting callbacks, but I’ll make sure to convince them to include you in the list—just in case. Though, from what I’ve seen, I’m quite certain they’re already planning on it.”

You felt a surge of gratitude and excitement. “Thank you again, really. I appreciate it.”

He cleared his throat, glancing at his watch. “I should probably get going. But before I leave, I just wanted to say it was a pleasure meeting you.”

As he turned to leave, he paused at the door and looked back. “Oh, I forgot to tell you, but my name is Kim Hongjoong,” he said before glancing at your widened eyes and gently shutting the door behind him, leaving you nearly paralyzed.

Kim Hongjoong?

The exact same name written on the sketchbook you accidentally took home with you on your first day in Paris?

Your thoughts began to swirl into a maelstrom of worry. How could this be happening? Not only did you have a renowned creative director’s sketchbook in your hands, but this very same creative director worked under the agency whose casting you had just attended. The coincidence was almost too much to bear. What if he found out you had his sketchbook? What if he thought you had stolen it?

Your mind raced with all the possible repercussions. You envisioned Hongjoong, upon discovering the mystery behind the missing sketchbook, being livid and assuming the worst of you. It might look as if you had tried to take his work for yourself or pry into his creative processes—which wasn’t exactly a far-fetched assumption, but that’s what makes things even worse on your behalf... It could certainly jeopardize your career before it even had a chance to start. He might inform the casting directors, and they could blacklist you from any future opportunities. The thought alone sent chills down your spine.

And then there was Seonghwa. You could picture his disappointment and frustration. He had gone out of his way to persuade you to attend this casting, believing in your potential. How would he react if he found out about the sketchbook? He might think you were careless or irresponsible. You had been so excited about this opportunity, but now it felt like it was slipping through your fingers due to a misunderstanding.

The weight of the situation was heavy, making it hard to breathe. You wondered how you were going to sort this out. Should you go to Hongjoong immediately and explain? But what if he didn’t believe you? What if he thought it was just a convenient excuse? The thought of facing him, knowing what you knew now, was daunting. But then, what other option did you have?

Your mind kept circling back to the same questions. How could you have known that the man whose sketchbook you had mistakenly taken would turn out to be so crucial to your career? You replayed the events of that night over and over, trying to pinpoint how things had gone so awry. It had been an innocent mistake, yet the consequences seemed potentially devastating. What if this one mistake ruined everything you had worked so hard for? What if your dreams of becoming a model in Paris ended before they could truly begin? The uncertainty of the future loomed over you like a dark cloud, making it difficult to focus on anything else.

It didn’t help that the outfit you wore was inspired by one of what’s now revealed to be Hongjoong’s sketches. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. Could that be the reason he had gone out of his way to approach you here? You tried to convince yourself it was just a coincidence, that he had been too genuine while complimenting you earlier for it to be otherwise. But the doubt lingered, gnawing at your mind.

A fashion designer of Hongjoong’s caliber would undoubtedly recognize his own creations. There was no way he wouldn’t. Did he already know? If he did, wouldn’t he have addressed it immediately? But then again, what if he was waiting for the right moment? Perhaps he wanted to see if you would chase after him the moment he told you his name and bring it up yourself. The uncertainty made your stomach churn.

You recalled the way he had looked at you, the intensity in his eyes. It wasn’t just the usual scrutiny of a casting director. There was something more, something you couldn’t quite place. Was it curiosity? Or was it simply professional interest in a potential model? Each possibility seemed equally plausible, yet you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it.

What if he had recognized the dress immediately but chose not to say anything? Maybe he was testing you, waiting to see if you would come forward with the truth. The thought made your heart race. You felt caught in a web of your own making, the threads tightening around you with each passing moment. How could you possibly explain the situation without it sounding like an excuse or a lie?

Your thoughts spiraled further into confusion and anxiety. If he knew about the sketchbook, what did he think of you? Did he believe you were trying to pass off his design as your own? That was far from the truth, but would he give you the chance to explain? The idea of being misunderstood by someone so pivotal to your career was terrifying.

And then there was the matter of the compliments he had given you. They seemed genuine, heartfelt even. But now you couldn’t help but question their sincerity. Had he been playing a part, trying to lure you into a false sense of security before confronting you? Or were his words truly a reflection of his professional opinion, unaffected by the sketchbook debacle? The more you thought about it, the more tangled your emotions became. You felt a mix of admiration and fear toward Hongjoong. Admiration for his undeniable talent and fear of his potential judgment. His opinion held immense weight, and the possibility of disappointing him was almost unbearable.

You wondered if you should come clean about the sketchbook before he had a chance to bring it up. But the timing seemed impossible. How could you just casually walk up to him and confess to accidentally taking his sketchbook like it wasn’t most likely a treasured item of his? And what if, by some slim chance, he really hadn’t noticed the dress’s origins? You would be drawing unnecessary attention to it, possibly creating an issue where there was none.

Your thoughts were a chaotic swirl of what-ifs and maybes. Each scenario you envisioned seemed fraught with peril. The fear of ruining your budding career loomed large, casting a shadow over your every thought. The dress, which had felt like a beacon of hope earlier, now felt like a burden, an uncomfortable fabric attaching itself on the surface of your skin, a reminder of the precarious position you found yourself in.

You wished you could go back to that moment in the cafe, to the moment before you had mistakenly picked up the wrong sketchbook. But there was no undoing what had been done. All you could do now was navigate the consequences, no matter how daunting they seemed. Your worries wouldn’t leave you alone and it definitely doesn’t seem like they were planning to anytime soon—an unrelenting presence that made it hard to think straight. You felt a deep sense of dread at the thought of facing Hongjoong again. What would you say? Would you even be able to see him again, that is?

The moment Hongjoong opened the conference room door, he saw that no one was there anymore. The room was eerily silent, and the chairs were neatly pushed under the table. He realized he had taken too long and the debriefing session had ended without him. Letting out a sigh, he decided to head back up to his office.

As he stepped into the room, he was greeted by an unfortunately familiar yet chaotic sight: Wooyoung was laughing loudly while being pushed around in Hongjoong’s chair by Seonghwa. The sight of Seonghwa struggling to control the wheeled chair with Wooyoung gleefully directing it like a makeshift chariot brought an exasperated groan from Hongjoong.

Seeing Hongjoong from the corner of his eye, Wooyoung quickly looked at him and pointed at Seonghwa with a mischievous grin. “See? Pushing a shopping cart or a chair can be fun if you put your mind to it!”

Hongjoong sighed in frustration, “Seonghwa, quit feeding into Wooyoung’s antics before one of the wheels falls off my chair.”

Seonghwa, still smiling, immediately complied despite Wooyoung’s whining complaints. Wooyoung reluctantly got off the chair, still chuckling, while Seonghwa straightened his shirt and ran a hand through his hair. As Seonghwa moved the chair back to its rightful place behind Hongjoong’s desk, he asked, “What took you so long anyway? And why do you look so… wow. This is the first time I’ve seen a smile on your face this week.”

Hongjoong, now sitting on the couch, shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m just happy about the results of today’s casting.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “That’s like, really strange, because I’m sure you had a bothered look when you stepped outside of the conference room to go to the restroom. Like, really bothered.” Before Hongjoong could respond, Wooyoung continued with another question, “Speaking of, what took you so long anyway?”

Hongjoong leaned back, looking at Wooyoung with a raised eyebrow. “It’s none of your business.”

“You can’t just—” Wooyoung cut himself off, taken aback for a moment, then considered Hongjoong’s words. He finally nodded and said, “Yeah, you’re right, that’s... definitely not my business.”

Seonghwa, still curious, turned to Hongjoong, “Seriously though, what’s got you in a better mood?”

Hongjoong glanced at Seonghwa, then looked out the window thoughtfully. “I just had a moment of clarity, I guess. Today’s casting was better than I expected.”

Seonghwa nodded slowly, not entirely convinced but willing to let it go for now. “Well, that’s good to hear. We did see some promising talent.”

Hongjoong’s mind wandered back to the casting, especially the way you had walked down the runway with such grace and confidence. There was something about you that stood out, something he couldn’t quite place but felt drawn to nonetheless. The memory of your performance brought a subtle smile to his lips. Wooyoung, sensing there was more to Hongjoong’s mood shift, couldn’t help but press a little further. “Come on, there’s gotta be more to it than that. Did something happen when you stepped out?”

Hongjoong shook his head, maintaining his composed demeanor. “Just appreciating the talent we saw today, Wooyoung. Nothing more.”

Wooyoung shrugged, realizing he wouldn’t get more out of Hongjoong for now. “Alright, if you say so. But I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

All Hongjoong could do was smile. “I’ll be keeping an eye out there, too. Not on you, though.”

🪞 — lividstar.

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎THE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Four: A Pleasant Twist

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 5k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ What started as a plan for a quiet walk in the park quickly turned eventful when you bumped into Madame Dupont, who was heading out for groceries. Choosing to assist her instead, two occurrences you didn’t see coming saw the light of the day: A. Running into Seonghwa, and B. Receiving an offer from Madame Dupont to help with your upcoming casting.

a/n: did you guys see san’s fit for the dolce & gabbana fashion show... it had me weak he straight up looked like he came from a dystopian hunger games type beat magical fantasy gods and goddesses 100k wc fic like that’s choi san from district ATE

tags: @beabatiny

The atmosphere in Hongjoong’s office was a mix of modern chic and creative chaos. The walls, adorned with framed sketches and mood boards, exuded an air of inspiration and meticulous planning. The sleek glass desk was cluttered with fabric swatches, design drafts, and a laptop perpetually open to design software. Large windows let in natural light, illuminating the room and casting a soft glow on the polished wooden floors. Shelves lined with fashion magazines featuring either his designs or Hongjoong himself, awards in varying categories, and an array of art supplies hinted at the relentless creativity that filled the space.

Hongjoong sat behind his desk, his brows furrowed in concentration as he reviewed the latest designs. Seonghwa stood across from him, tablet in hand, listing off upcoming tasks.

“We’re still months away from the fashion week, but it feels dangerously close,” Seonghwa noted, swiping through the digital calendar. “You’re still without your sketchbook, so we need backup designs just in case.”

Hongjoong sighed, running a hand through his hair. He’s been making use of Seonghwa’s digital tablet to work on new designs, but it just doesn’t hit the same as sketching on the rough surface of a paper. Well, Seonghwa has been trying to convince him he only feels that way because drawing digitally is an entirely foreign experience to him, but he swears it’s more than that. You wouldn’t get it, is what he’d usually say. “I know. I’m working on new designs, but it’s hard to compensate for everything I had in that sketchbook. There’s so much detail and inspiration in those lost pages.”

“Well… maybe we should schedule extra brainstorming sessions with the team. It might help to get more input," Seonghwa suggested, his tone pragmatic. There’s only so much a single personal assistant could do, especially regarding important matters they’re short of time on, after all.

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, tapping a pen against his desk thoughtfully. “Seems like a good plan. We can set up a few sessions next week. Also, I want to review the progress of our new recruits. We need fresh faces ready for the casting call.”

“Oh, speaking of recruits, have you thought about expanding our outreach programs?” Seonghwa continued, making notes on his tablet. “More workshops and seminars could attract new talent to the agency. It’s also a good way to give back to the community.”

“Yes, definitely. And I also want to collaborate with more local designers,” Hongjoong agreed, his voice gaining a note of enthusiasm. There were still a lot of things to sort out, but at least they’re no longer heading forward empty-handed, right? “It’s important to foster community connections and bring in diverse perspectives. We could host a local designer showcase leading up to the fashion week.”

Seonghwa nodded. “That sounds perfect. We should also consider revamping our social media strategy. More behind-the-scenes content, live Q&A sessions, stuff that really engages our audience. 90% of people spend more than half the average day on their phone, anyway, so it would be a good idea to improve our marketing strategies online.”

“Right,” Hongjoong replied, leaning forward and straightening his posture. “I’ve noticed our engagement has been a bit stagnant. Let’s brainstorm some fresh content ideas and maybe even a mini-documentary series about our design process.”

As they were continuing to talk endlessly about gaps they needed to fill in order to ensure the brand’s utmost and consistent success, a thought suddenly resurfaced in Seonghwa’s mind. “Oh, I forgot to tell you yesterday, but she said yes.”

Hongjoong looked puzzled, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Since when did you have a significant other?”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes dramatically, not being able to distinguish whether A. Hongjoong was just trying to push his buttons, or B. His brain development had reversed throughout the night and thus, is now being outright dumb. Knowing him, it was probably the latter. “No, you stupid goon. I’m referring to the girl from Rue de la Paix.”

“Oh, alright. Wait—she said yes?” Hongjoong's eyes widened in surprise.

At that exact moment, Wooyoung entered the room with a dramatic flair. “Whoa, who said yes? Didn’t know you had it in you, Seonghwa,” Wooyoung teased. Just then, an empty folder came flying his way, nearly hitting him right at his face if it weren’t for his reflexes. “Hey, what was that for?”

“That’s for accomplishing the mission of being even more stupid than Hongjoong,” Seonghwa deadpanned, shrugging. “What are you doing here anyway, Wooyoung? I thought you had no activities scheduled for today.”

Wooyoung grinned and flopped onto the couch, stretching out comfortably. “Yeah, but Hongjoong’s office couch is comfortable and I’m experiencing back pain. Needed a place to relax.”

“And who told you you could just do that?”

“...My free will?”

Seonghwa glanced at Hongjoong, who didn’t even need to hear the words come out of his mouth. “No surprises at all. He does this all the time.”

Suddenly, Hongjoong always putting in his best efforts when it comes to avoiding Wooyoung during his work hours was now starting to make sense to Seonghwa. “No wonder you’re so sick of him,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“I can hear both of you very well, you know?” Wooyoung quipped, scrolling through his phone without looking up. “Actually, nevermind. Knowing you two, you’re probably doing that on purpose.”

“Nice theory. Whatever,” Seonghwa dismissed, turning back to Hongjoong. “Anyway, what I meant by her saying yes is that she agreed to attend the casting. She didn’t say it directly, but she called me in the middle of the night to ask for further details. Plus, she replied to my message about wishing her luck and hoping she wouldn’t back out. So, I think it’s safe to assume she’s going to attend.”

Hongjoong’s expression softened with a mix of relief and curiosity. “That’s great news. I’m really curious to see what she brings to the table.”

“Who’ll bring what to the table?” Wooyoung interjected, finally looking up from his phone with genuine interest. “You both seem pretty invested in this person.”

Seonghwa leaned against the desk, crossing his arms. “A girl from Rue de la Paix that I scouted pretty recently. I believe she has great potential.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. If you’re both that excited, she must be something special,” he mused to himself before looking back down on his phone screen.

Hongjoong hummed in agreement before turning his attention back to the topic at hand. He adjusted the sleeves of his tailored blazer and leaned forward, glancing at the tablet Seonghwa held. “So, about the upcoming projects, I think we should focus more on integrating sustainable fabrics,” Hongjoong said, his tone serious and thoughtful. “It’s not just a trend; it’s a necessity for the future of fashion.”

Seonghwa nodded, tapping notes into his tablet. “Got it. We should reach out to more suppliers who specialize in eco-friendly materials. I’ll set up meetings with potential partners next week.”

Hongjoong’s eyes sparkled with inspiration. The endless days of working he always had to go through were indeed tiring, but the creative process throughout it all and everything that came out of it were always worth the progressively lessening hours of sleep on his behalf. “And for the designs, I want to blend traditional craftsmanship with modern aesthetics. Something that tells a story of heritage while being innovative.”

“That’s a great direction,” Seonghwa agreed, looking up from his notes. “We could also highlight these stories in our marketing campaigns. You know, show our audience the journey behind each piece.”

Before Hongjoong could respond, Wooyoung let out a dramatic groan from the couch, rolling his eyes. “Man, hearing you two talk about work stuff when I’m supposed to be taking a break from all that is so annoying.”

Hongjoong shot him a bemused look. “Well, maybe if you wanted to take a break from your ‘work stuff,’ you should’ve considered staying home instead of lounging in a work office where work-related matters are supposed to be discussed.”

Wooyoung rolled his eyes again, sitting up slightly. “Come on, can’t we set things aside and talk about casual stuff for once? It’s been a while since I last got to be in the same space as both of you, and you’re settling on talking about work?”

For a moment, both Seonghwa and Hongjoong processed his words. Then, Seonghwa was the first to chuckle, shaking his head. “Well, that’s a rather unique way to say that you miss hanging out with us.”

Hongjoong’s eyebrows raised in surprise. "Wait, huh? That’s what he meant?”

Wooyoung shrugged, leaning back against the couch. “Well, you can’t blame me when the past few months have been nothing but busy schedules, busy schedules, and even more busy schedules for us. I chose to work under you two because I know we promised we’d stay together after college, but even being in the same workspace isn’t helping us have more time to spend together.”

Hongjoong sighed, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What’s up with you and being so sentimental?” Quite hypocritical, as he’s been having the same thoughts as Wooyoung lately as well. The only difference between them is that Wooyoung is comfortable with expressing it, but Hongjoong? Well, not really.

Seonghwa looked at Hongjoong and gave a knowing smile. “Don’t lie, Hongjoong. You know you feel the same way as Wooyoung does.”

Hongjoong exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. Seonghwa could always see right through him regardless of if he wanted him to or not, and sometimes, he doesn’t know if he should appreciate it or be terrified. “Alright, fine. I do miss hanging out like we used to. Things have just been so hectic, especially with all the activities scheduled for the following weeks and months.”

Seonghwa nodded, turning to Wooyoung. “Well, seems like you’re right, then. Since you want to talk about ‘casual stuff,’ why not initiate the conversation for us?”

Wooyoung’s eyes brightened. He knew Hongjoong and Seonghwa find him annoying sometimes—well, more often than that, actually—but he never really took it seriously, because he was aware that deep down, they both have a soft spot for him. Unfortunately, for the two older men, Wooyoung has a knack for using that fact to his advantage. “Alright, let’s see... How about we take a stroll around the city later tonight? Just to take our minds off all the stress.”

Seonghwa nodded, his expression thoughtful. “That sounds like a good idea. I actually recommended Hongjoong do the exact same thing all by himself a few days ago, but I figure tagging along with him wouldn’t be so bad.”

Wooyoung beamed. “See, I knew you’d catch my drift.”

Hongjoong was a bit dismissive at first, reminding Seonghwa, “You do know the only person out of the three of us who doesn’t have anything to do today is Wooyoung, right?”

Wooyoung shrugged nonchalantly. “So? I could keep lounging in here until your work hours end.”

Seonghwa chuckled, knowing Wooyoung all too well. He wasn’t one to get bored easily, no, not at all, but in a place such as, like what Hongjoong said, a work office wherein work-related matters are supposed to be discussed, it wouldn’t take longer than a second to tire his energy out. “Are you sure you won’t get bored?"

“No, totally not,” Wooyoung insisted. “I’ve even already experienced staying the night in this office without Hongjoong here, and I didn’t get bored at all. It was, like, super cool. You know those cool rich businessmen in movies who spend the night looking outside the window of their office walls on a chair with a bottle of an alcoholic beverage in hand?”

Hongjoong’s eyes widened in surprise. “I’m sorry, you did what?”

Wooyoung’s, however, darted nervously around the office. “Oh. I mean—”

You sat in your small, dimly lit apartment, staring at the blank walls and feeling the embrace of loneliness attach itself to you. The evening stretched ahead with no plans, no friends to meet, and no familiar faces to call. Seonghwa had been kind, but you barely knew him, and calling him a friend felt a little too early. Financial prudence also demanded caution; with the casting still a few days away and no guarantee of immediate income, you couldn’t afford to be reckless with how much you spend.

Maybe a walk outside could be nice?

You sighed and looked at the closet doors, debating whether it was worth the effort. The allure of fresh air and a change of scenery tugged at you, while the fear of venturing out into an unfamiliar city at night held you back. You thought about the headache from yesterday—how intense and strange it had been. It wasn’t a normal headache, and it lingered in your mind. Perhaps a stroll through the nearby park would help clear your thoughts.

With your decision now entirely made, you rose from your bed and headed to your closet. You chose a soft beige knit sweater, its cozy warmth comforting against the evening chill. Pairing it with a long, black skirt that reached down to your ankles and shoes of the same color as your sweater, you completed the outfit with a light scarf draped casually around your neck. You began fixing your appearance up, and once you were satisfied, you grabbed your bag and left the apartment.

As you reached the ground floor, you spotted Madame Dupont at the entrance, preparing to leave. “Madame Dupont?” you called out, quickening your pace to catch up with her.

She turned, her eyes lighting up when she saw you. “Ah, bonsoir! How are you, dear?” she asked, her voice warm and welcoming.

“I’m well, thank you,” you replied, offering her a smile. “Where are you off to?” Your eyes darted to the streets outside.

“I’m just heading to the grocery store,” she said, adjusting the strap of her handbag. “What about you? Where are you going?”

“I was thinking of taking a walk,” you said, glancing towards the door once more. “But if you don't mind, I could accompany you instead.”

Madame Dupont’s face brightened even more. “Oh, that would be lovely! Are you sure you don’t mind?”

A walk to the park may have been your initial plan, but you still weren’t entirely sure the calm atmosphere of the evening would suffice to outweigh both the thoughts inside your head and your worries about possible dangers. “Not at all,” you assured her. “I’d be happy to help.”

The two of you then began to walk together to the bus stop, engaging in light conversation. “How was your day?” you asked as you waited for the bus to arrive.

Madame Dupont smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “It was quite eventful, actually. This morning, I had to chase Monsieur Frank’s cat out of my garden again. That rascal has a knack for digging up my flowers!”

You laughed softly, imagining the scene. Monsieur Frank’s féline, Pompidou, was indeed a little ball full of mischief. You’ve had your own set of encounters with him, such as waking up to hearing light scratches by your door—which once happened in the middle of the night and nearly made you consider moving back to Arcadia Bay, having him come out of nowhere and pounce on your shoes when you’re walking out the door, and more. You don’t know why his owner decided to name him Pompidou, but you figured it suits his personality very well. “That sounds like quite the adventure. He’s adorable, but has always been quite of a pain to deal with. Did you manage to catch him?”

“Eventually,” she chuckled. “But not before he managed to scatter soil all over my freshly planted tulips. And then, later in the afternoon, I had a lovely visit from my granddaughter. She’s starting university soon, you know. Full of excitement and nerves, that one.”

You smiled, listening intently. Oh, what would you give to experience starting university for the first time again—with nothing but excitement and nerves, just like Madame Dupont’s granddaughter and nothing like yourself. “Really? That’s wonderful. What’s she going to study?”

“Art history,” Madame Dupont replied, pride evident in her voice. “She’s always had a passion for it. Ever since she was a little girl, she’d spend hours drawing and painting. I’m glad she’s pursuing something she loves.”

The bus arrived, and you both boarded, continuing your conversation during the short ride. Madame Dupont shared stories about her granddaughter’s childhood, her love for art, and her hopes for the future. You listened intently, feeling a warm sense of connection growing between you.

When you arrived at the grocery store, you offered to push the cart, an offer Madame Dupont gratefully accepted. Throughout your journey of navigating through the aisles, you reached for items on the higher shelves that she couldn’t reach, earning appreciative smiles and heartfelt thanks from her.

As you placed a jar of jam into the cart, Madame Dupont continued her stories. “You know, dear, I remember when my granddaughter was just four, she painted the most beautiful landscape. We framed it and it still hangs in our living room. Whenever I look at it, it reminds me of her spirit and creativity.”

“That sounds lovely,” you said, smiling at the thought. You wonder if you had moments in your childhood that were similar to hers. But then again, how would you know? “It must be wonderful to have such a talented family member.”

“I can only imagine that is exactly how your family thinks of you,” Madame Dupont mused, turning to you with a heartfelt smile. Confused, all you could do was let out an awkward chuckle. “What do you mean, Madame Dupont?” you asked, unsure what she was implying.

“You’ve only been here for quite a short while, but let me tell you, dear, it’s easy for me to be able to tell you have a genuine soul. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, and I really appreciate it—having one of my tenants accompany me to the grocery store isn’t exactly a common occurrence.” She chuckled, placing her hand on top of yours that remained sat on the cart and rubbed her thumb on the back of it shortly before letting go.

“It’s nothing, Madame Dupont,” you attempted to counter, but she wouldn’t relent. She shook her head in response, finding it amusing how you seem to be struggling to allow yourself to accept her kind words. “Well, whatever you say,” was all she settled with before turning her attention back to her grocery shopping list.

While you and Madame Dupont continued to shop together, she suddenly stopped and turned to you. “Would you mind waiting here for a moment, dear? I need to use the bathroom.”

“Of course, take your time,” you replied with a reassuring smile.

“Thank you,” she said, patting your arm gently before heading towards the restroom. You positioned the grocery cart in a corner to avoid blocking the aisle, then leaned against it and pulled out your phone. Scrolling through social media, you let yourself get absorbed in the digital world. Minutes passed, the hum of the store fading into the background, when you heard a voice that seemed oddly familiar coming from the other end of the aisle.

Curiosity piqued, you turned off your phone and tucked it back into your bag. Leaning forward, you peeked around the corner to see Seonghwa, reaching for an item on the shelf.

“Seonghwa?” you called out, stepping into the aisle.

His head snapped in your direction, and upon recognizing you, he broke into a warm smile. “Hey! What a surprise to see you again so soon,” he said, his voice laced with genuine delight as he pushed his cart towards you. “What are you doing here?”

You smiled, gesturing to the half-full cart beside you. “Just accompanying my landlord with purchasing her groceries.”

“Oh, do you live around here?” Seonghwa tilted his head, half his hair softly falling down to the side he turned to.

“No, my apartment is a quick bus ride from here,” you explained. “What about you, though? What are you doing here?” you asked, this time gesturing to his cart.

“Oh, me?” He pointed to himself, smiling. “My friends and I were planning to spend a few hours at the park, and we figured we could stop by here for a moment to grab some snacks we could eat.”

“What a coincidence. I was thinking of going to the park, too,” you mused, sharing your initial plans for the night.

Seonghwa’s face then lit up. “Really? Why don’t you come and tag along with us? They both work at the agency that’s hosting the casting you’ll be attending, too. It would be nice if you could get to know them beforehand.”

You hesitated, glancing back towards the restroom where Madame Dupont had disappeared. “That sounds lovely, but I promised my landlord I’d help her with the shopping. Maybe another time?”

He nodded, understanding and not pressing the matter. “Sure, another time it is then. So, speaking of, how’s everything going with the casting preparations?”

“It’s been…” quite a challenge, was what you wanted to say. After all, there was some truth to it. Yet still, you didn’t want to show any signs of wavering. “It’s been going well. I’ll definitely be there.”

“Great! I really think you could be our turning point,” he said enthusiastically, his eyes earnest and full of hope.

You laughed, trying to lighten the mood and ease the pressure. “No pressure, right? Or else I might not show up.”

He grinned, playing along. “Okay, okay, no pressure.”

Just then, a voice called out his name from another part of the store. Seonghwa groaned, rubbing his temple with a resigned smile. “That’s my cue. This is why we can’t go anywhere together without causing a scene.”

You chuckled, amused by his predicament. “Having friends like that must be fun.” You wouldn’t know anything about it for sure, but the thought seemed nice. Maybe in the future, you’d also get to experience having your name be shouted in a public grocery store by a close friend of yours. Or, who knows? You could be the one shouting.

“Fun, yes. Embarrassing, absolutely,” he said, rolling his eyes but with a fond smile. “I’d better go. See you at the casting?”

“Definitely. See you,” you said, waving as he walked away. Almost immediately after Seonghwa left, Madame Dupont returned, looking refreshed. “Who was that young man you were talking to?” she asked, seemingly intrigued.

“Oh, just… an acquaintance,” you replied, still feeling quite hesitant over considering Seonghwa as a friend. Hopefully, one day, you’ll feel more comfortable referring to him with such a term. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

Madame Dupont nodded, smiling warmly. “Alright, dear. Let’s continue, shall we?”

The two of you resumed your shopping, chatting and laughing as you navigated the aisles. You reached for items on the higher shelves, and Madame Dupont shared more stories about her family. Her anecdotes were heartwarming, filled with fond memories and lively descriptions. As you listened, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth and belonging. These simple moments, like helping her shop and hearing her stories, were making you feel more at home in this new city.

Seonghwa pushed his grocery cart around the store, his eyes scanning the aisles as he searched for Hongjoong and Wooyoung. He maneuvered through various sections, weaving past other shoppers and glancing down every row. Finally, after a few minutes of searching, he spotted them and couldn’t help but pause, taken aback by the sight.

Wooyoung was perched inside an empty shopping cart, looking quite pleased with himself, while Hongjoong pushed it with a resigned, tired expression on his face.

“Should’ve known you were only referring to yourself when you said you wanted ‘us’ to have fun,” Hongjoong deadpanned, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he sighed heavily.

Wooyoung scoffed, playfully swatting at Hongjoong’s hand that gripped the handle of the cart. “Pushing a shopping cart can be fun too! You just don’t know how to do it right. Now push faster!”

Seonghwa couldn’t help but chuckle, his amusement evident as he approached them. “Should I be surprised?”

“Yes!” Wooyoung replied instantly, grinning.

“No,” Hongjoong said at the same time, his tone flat.

“What took you so long, anyway? You said you were just going to grab a few snacks before we head to the counter,” Hongjoong asked, his movements with the cart becoming more mindless as he pushed and pulled it back and forth.

“That I was, but I came across her,” Seonghwa said with a shrug. He figured there was no need to specify who he was talking about, as Hongjoong’s eyes widened in recognition.

“The girl from Rue de la Paix?” Hongjoong inquired, just to make sure.

From his seat in the cart, Wooyoung interjected. “For how much longer are you gonna refer to her as the girl from Rue de la Paix? Aren’t you planning on, like, getting her name or something, at least?”

“Not when Seonghwa keeps forgetting to do that,” Hongjoong answered, gesturing toward Seonghwa, who now sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

“I overheard you saying you got a call from her recently. You have her number, right? You could just ask for her name through a text message. Not unless you want to keep referring to her using such a long nickname,” Wooyoung suggested, shrugging.

Seonghwa nodded, considering the idea. “Yeah, I’ll think about that.”

Hongjoong shifted the conversation back. “So, what was she doing here?”

“She was helping her landlord with grocery shopping,” was what Seonghwa responded.

“Does she live around here?” Hongjoong asked, his curiosity piqued and his hands no longer pushing the cart he held back and forth.

“No, she said her apartment is a quick bus ride from here,” Seonghwa explained. “She was just being helpful.”

Wooyoung, still in the cart, dramatically sighed. “Ah, the noble deeds of the common folk.”

Hongjoong rolled his eyes, flicking the back of Wooyoung’s head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous but lovable,” Wooyoung retorted, grinning widely. “Come on, admit it. You missed having me around.”

Hongjoong groaned. “No, I didn’t,” yes, he did.

Seonghwa chuckled, joining in. “Alright, enough of this. Let’s finish up and get going. Wooyoung, get out of the cart before we get kicked out of here.”

Wooyoung pouted but complied, hopping out of the cart with exaggerated movements. “Fine, but only because I’m hungry.”

After what felt like nearly half an hour of waiting by the side of the streets, a bus finally came into view, and thankfully, nearly all of its seats were vacant. You took the bag of groceries from Madame Dupont’s grasp, motioning for her to get in first. Once you both settled on one of the seats by the middle, you let out a sigh of relief as you leaned your head on the window. Today didn’t go exactly as you planned, but the point of unwinding and getting a breath of fresh air was accomplished anyway, wasn’t it?

“So, about the young man from the grocery store,” Madame Dupont started, making you sit up straight and turn your head to her. “How do you two know each other?”

You then purse your lips in excitement over finally getting to tell Madame Dupont about the casting. “Remember when I asked you for directions to Rue de la Paix for my job search?” you asked, waiting for a nod of confirmation first. Once you received it, you continued speaking. “That’s where I met him. His name is Seonghwa, and he works under an agency of fashion and modeling.”

“That sounds interesting,” Madame Dupont mused, almost to herself. “How did you two meet each other?”

“I wouldn’t say meet,” you said sheepishly, remembering how Seonghwa was quite literally running in full speed towards you. “But he’s seen me before, and said he wanted to approach me back then but couldn’t. The reason he wanted to approach me was, well…”

“Well?” Madame Dupont tilted her head, intrigued. “Don’t leave me hanging, dear,” she joked, making you laugh.

“I may or may not have been casted to become a model.”

There were a few seconds of silence between both of you, and you figured it’s safe to assume Madame Dupont wasn’t speaking because she was trying to process your words. Suddenly, you’re caught by surprise when a wide smile spreads across her face as she gently grabs a hand of yours using both of hers and shakes it in excitement.

“That’s wonderful, dear! Especially since you’ve been doing nothing but search for jobs the moment you stepped foot here,” she beamed, and for a moment, you nearly believed she was more excited for the opportunity than you were. “I’m a hundred percent certain you’ll do very well and get accepted.”

“I wish I could say the same thing, Madame.” You chuckled. “I’m still really nervous, and the casting’s happening on Friday this week.”

“Friday?” Her eyes widened in surprise, and all you could do was nod. “Well, that is very close, indeed. Have you been going through preparations?”

“I have,” you said, smiling. “It still doesn’t feel real to me, though.” You didn’t want to blame yourself for feeling like this, as for a person who’s always been accustomed to staying behind the shadows, suddenly stepping into a career where the main point is to let yourself be seen is indeed a terrifying experience.

“That’s normal. It’s a huge shift, after all,” her voice took on a soft tone, attempting to ease your nerves. “Do you have anything to wear for the casting yet?”

“Oh, about that…” you trailed off, your mind going back in time to recall the photos you took of the designs from the sketchbook. “There’s a few designs I want to base my attire on, but I haven’t gone off on a kickstart about it yet. Preparations have been mostly about my confidence and less about my appearance.”

Madame Dupont smiled, leaning back in her seat. “Is that so? Well why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could help you with that, dear,” she offered.

You felt a bit hesitant. “I’d appreciate that, Madame Dupont. But I don’t wanna take up too much of your time and bother you.”

She waved your concerns off. “Oh, dear, you’ll never be a bother to me. You helped me out today, and I think it’s only right for me to return the favor.”

“Alright, but, how?” You tilted your head, confused about where she was heading to.

Madame Dupont let out a hum, eyes darting all around the bus as she pondered over what to say before fully turning her gaze back to you. “Do you know why I never get bored even when I rarely go outside unless it’s necessary?”

You shook your head. “No, why?”

“Sewing, knitting, and crocheting are some of the things that keep me company,” she explained. Seeing your puzzled expression, she added, “And I’m bringing that up because I was thinking I can return the favor by sewing your outfit for you.”

You hesitated. “Oh, but... I don’t want to turn your hobby into an obligation.” Sure, it seemed like it would be of a huge amount of help to you, but was it really right to accept it?

Seeing your hesitance, she insisted, “I would love to help you. Besides, it’s no trouble at all.” Just as you were about to politely decline, the bus stopped in front of your apartment, and Madame Dupont used it as an opportunity to wave off any further protests. “You have no other choice but to accept my help,” she said firmly.

Eventually, you gave up, letting her have her way. “Alright, Madame Dupont.” You took the groceries and let her get off the bus first, following soon after. As you both walked towards the apartment, you turned to her, “Would you like me to help with unpacking your groceries?”

“No, dear, you’ve done enough for me today,” she said kindly. “You should go get some rest—but not before you send me the image of the attire you want to use as inspiration.”

Nodding, you promised to send the photos once you got back to your apartment. “Thank you so much, Madame Dupont.”

“Don’t mention it, dear,” she replied with a warm smile. “I’m looking forward to seeing what we’ll come up with.”

Back in your apartment, you lay down on your bed, the events of the day replaying in your mind. You took out your phone and scrolled back and forth through the pictures of the designs from the sketchbook, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. Each design had its own charm, but one particular outfit kept catching your eye. It was the off-shoulder dress with delicate lace detailing that had given you a headache the first time you saw it, but now that you were more... used to the sight of it, it seemed perfect. After some deliberation, you decided that this was the one. You sent the image to Madame Dupont’s contact number with a short message.

This is the one I’d like to use as inspiration. Thank you so much for your help!

As you put your phone down, you muttered to yourself, “Now that that’s out of the way, I should probably go clean up before I head to bed.” You stood up, stretching your arms above your head, and made your way to the bathroom. The warm water from the shower helped to wash away the fatigue of the day, and as you stood under the stream, you felt a sense of relief and anticipation for what was to come.

Meanwhile, at the park, Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and Wooyoung were seated in one of the grassy areas, enjoying the peaceful evening. The sun had returned to its peaceful slumber long ago, and the park was illuminated by soft, ambient lights, creating a serene atmosphere. “So, any updates on your missing sketchbook?” Wooyoung asked, before popping a chocolate chip cookie into his mouth.

Hongjoong’s expression darkened, and he let out a frustrated sigh. “No, and I don’t want to talk about it,” he grumbled. “The universe might as well tell me to quit my career at this point.”

Seonghwa shook his head, refusing to encourage Hongjoong’s behavior. “Oh, come on, don’t be such a pessimist. We’ll find it eventually.”

Hongjoong turned to Seonghwa, his frustration evident. “Seonghwa, take a moment to reflect on the circumstances we’re currently under. How can I not be pessimistic? My entire collection for the autumn fashion week is in that sketchbook, along with years of work.”

Seonghwa nodded, understanding Hongjoong’s point but still trying to lift his spirits. “I get what you’re feeling, but moping around won’t do anything. We need to stay proactive.”

Wooyoung, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. “Why’s the sketchbook so important to you anyway? I mean, yeah, that’s a stupid question since it, like you said, has all the designs you’ve made since college and the sketches for the autumn fashion week, but I can’t help but feel like that’s not the only reason. What’s the real deal?”

Hongjoong’s eyes flickered with an emotion he quickly masked. “You’re thinking way too deeply into it,” he deflected, looking away.

Wooyoung shrugged, sensing Hongjoong’s reluctance to delve deeper. “Well, whatever.”

🪞 — lividstar.

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Three: Inspiration

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 4k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ The thought of entering the world of fashion and modeling seemed daunting, but you’d rather have your suffering come from getting perceived than not having at least a sufficient amount of money to make sure your last days won’t be spent in Paris. Looking through the stolen-but-not-really sketchbook in your possession for outfit inspiration, you’re caught in a state of shock when something you thought had finally left you behind suddenly came back to bite you. One question hung heavy in your mind: Why?

a/n: all i have to say is: everything about this chapter that confuses you will eventually make sense through time

tags: @beabatiny

Seonghwa must have been dreaming—either that, or he has absolutely lost his mind. Sure, he already carried a surge of hope with him after he attempted to pursue you into getting interested in the upcoming casting for Hongjoong’s autumn collection he’ll be showcasing at Fashion Week, but he wasn’t expecting you to immediately call him just a few hours after your interaction.

Well, you did say you were walking around Rue de la Paix with the purpose of landing a job, so... maybe that’s why it didn’t take too long for you to consider his offer? It was an opportunity, after all.

“Am I dreaming?” Seonghwa asked, his voice a mix of surprise and disbelief.

On the other end of the line, your face contorted into an expression of both confusion and amusement. “Hasn’t it been established that it’s bad to ask people in your dream if you’re dreaming? I heard doing that turns the whole thing into a nightmare.”

That was all it took for Seonghwa to be certain that he was, in fact, not dreaming, and you were, in fact, actually calling him.

He chuckled, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. “Alright, alright, you got me. I’m definitely not dreaming. So, about the casting…”

You could hear the shift in his tone, becoming more professional and focused. “The casting is for an upcoming autumn collection showcase that will be part of Fashion Week. We're looking for new faces, someone who can bring a fresh perspective to the runway. It's a fantastic opportunity, especially for someone who’s looking to break into the industry.”

You listened intently, your curiosity piqued. “What would I need to do for the casting? I mean, I’ve never really done anything like this before…”

You weren’t exactly far off the truth. Sure, you’ve watched modeling shows and all that, but you’ve never immersed yourself in its world, figuring you were fine with settling as all but a distant viewer in an outsider’s perspective.

Seonghwa’s voice was reassuring. “That’s alright. Don’t worry, we’re not expecting you to have a ton of experience. What we’re looking for is potential. During the casting, you’ll be asked to walk the runway and maybe do a short photo session. It’s more about seeing how you present yourself and how well you can embody the spirit of the collection.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. “That sounds interesting. So, when and where is it happening?”

“The casting will be held this Friday at 10 AM,” Seonghwa began. “It’s going to be at a studio on 15 Rue de Rivoli. When you get there, just head to the reception and mention you’re there for the casting, they’ll guide you to the right place.”

“Alright,” you responded, taking mental notes of the details, hoping you won’t forget them as the days progress and pass by.

“Make sure to bring a few things with you,” Seonghwa continued. “Firstly, a portfolio if you have one. It doesn’t matter if it’s small or even if it’s just some photos of you; it’ll help us get a better idea of your look and style. Secondly, wear something comfortable yet stylish—something that shows off your personality but is easy to move in for the runway walk. And finally, bring your positive attitude and confidence. Just be yourself. That’s the most important thing. We want to see your unique qualities.”

“Got it. Thanks, Seonghwa. I appreciate you explaining everything.”

“No problem at all. I'm glad you called. I really think you have a lot of potential, and I’m excited to see what you can bring to the table.”

Once the call ended, you let out a soft sigh, feeling your hopes lift. You still weren’t certain if this was the right path to choose—but hey, some risks are bound to be taken, aren’t they? That’s just how life works.

The excitement mingled with apprehension, and you couldn’t ignore the lingering uncertainty. Modeling was an entirely new world for you, one you had never seriously considered before. Even though Seonghwa had reassured you to just be yourself, you knew that you couldn’t walk into the casting completely unprepared. You needed to put in at least a little effort in preparation, especially given your lack of experience and nonexistent confidence.

You mulled over your thoughts, realizing you had a few days to get yourself together before the casting. You decided that the best way to spend this time was by trying to practice modeling. It wasn’t just about walking on a runway; it was about presenting yourself with poise and confidence. You had never been one to strut around in front of others, and the thought of it made your stomach churn with nerves. But this was an opportunity you couldn’t afford to let slip away.

To start, you decided to look for tips and techniques online. You figured that getting an insight into the world of fashion and modeling would help you understand what you were getting into. You walked over to your desktop computer by the other side of the room and began to surf the internet, searching for interviews, documentaries, and any content related to modeling and fashion itself.

Your first stop was YouTube, where you found a plethora of interviews with successful models. You watched an interview with a famous model, where she discussed her journey from being an amateur to walking on the most prestigious runways. She spoke about the importance of self-belief and how she overcame her initial fears by practicing her walk and poses in front of a mirror. Her story resonated with you, and you considered following her methods.

Next, you stumbled upon a documentary series called “The Model Life.” The series followed aspiring models through their journey in the fashion industry, showcasing their struggles and triumphs. One episode highlighted a day in the life of a new model during Fashion Week, detailing her preparation, the chaos backstage, and the exhilaration of finally stepping onto the runway. The documentary provided you with a behind-the-scenes look at the hard work and dedication required to succeed in the industry.

You then found a documentary covering a veteran model’s experience in the industry, where she spoke about the power of authenticity in modeling. She emphasized that while technical skills are important, what truly sets a model apart is their unique presence and the ability to convey emotions through their expressions and body language. This gave you a different perspective, reinforcing Seonghwa’s advice to be yourself.

Switching gears, you browsed through various fashion blogs and websites. You came across articles that offered practical advice on how to prepare for a casting call. One blog suggested practicing your walk by placing a book on your head to improve your posture and balance. Another article recommended studying different poses in fashion magazines and practicing them in front of a mirror to build your confidence.

Finally, you explored fashion forums where aspiring models shared their experiences and tips. One forum thread caught your eye; it was filled with stories from individuals who had attended casting calls for major fashion shows. They discussed everything from the outfits they wore to how they handled the nerves. Reading their experiences made you feel a little less alone in your anxiety.

By the time you finished your internet deep dive, you had a notebook filled with notes and tips. You felt a mixture of excitement and trepidation, but you also felt more prepared. This week’s Friday could either be the turning point of your life or your biggest failure, and it’s within your hands to make sure the coin will flip and land on the side you’re hoping for.

—

The next day, you were gently stirred awake by the first light of dawn filtering through your window. The sun cast a golden glow across the room, illuminating the soft, pastel hues of your curtains. The city outside was beginning to wake, the distant hum of traffic mingling with the muffled sounds of citizens. You could see the Eiffel Tower peeking through the skyline, its silhouette majestic against the morning sky. For a moment, you lay there, savoring the tranquility of the early morning, feeling a sense of calmness wash over you.

Your peaceful moment was interrupted by the sound of your phone vibrating on the bedside table. Still half asleep, you reached out blindly, struggling to grasp it. In your groggy state, you accidentally pressed the decline button, sending the phone tumbling off the table. Your eyes shot open in alarm, and you quickly hung your body over the edge of the bed to retrieve it. With a sigh of relief, you saw that it was your mother calling, and you immediately rang her back.

Your mother’s voice filled with relief on the other end as she called out your name. “Oh, dear, I was beginning to get worried since you weren’t picking up.”

You let out a soft sigh, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “No, it’s okay, Mom. But... could you please stop calling me that? I don’t think I want to hear that name anymore.”

There was a brief pause before your mother spoke again, her tone filled with understanding. “I’m sorry, honey. You know I still struggle with referring to you using your new name, but I understand why you had to do it.”

“It’s okay, Mom,” you replied, feeling a heavy pang of guilt. You knew better than to expect people to adjust to your comfort all the time, but you knew even better than to sacrifice your boundaries for the sake of not making others feel bad. Additionally, your parents never really minded you reminding them of these matters—it’s just like what your mother said just now, she understands. “I know it’s hard, but it’s important to me.”

Your mother sighed softly, her voice tinged with sadness and acceptance. “I know, sweetheart. I’ll do better. It’s just been so busy lately, but I’ve missed you. How’s everything going? How’s Paris treating you?”

You settled back against the headboard, feeling a wave of homesickness mingled with relief. “Paris is... different. It’s beautiful and overwhelming at the same time. There are so many things to see and do, but it can be lonely too.”

Your mother’s voice softened. “I can imagine. It’s such a big change. Have you made any friends yet?”

You hesitated, thinking about your interactions. “Well… not really. I’ve met a few people, but I’m still trying to find my footing here. It’s been mostly about looking for jobs.”

“That’s understandable,” she said gently. “Moving to a new city is always tough. Switching from Arcadia Bay to Paris is a huge step, but I’m sure you’ll find your place there soon.”

“Well, I hope so,” you replied. You’ve been telling yourself the exact same thing everyday since you moved here, and although it gets a little hard to believe your own words sometimes, you know there’s always room for better days. “It’s been a bit of a struggle. I know you told me I could always call you and Dad if things get really bad, but I want to prove I can handle myself.”

“We know you can,” your mother said with pride. “You’ve always been determined and resourceful. Just keep pushing forward.”

A soft smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you recalled your latest encounter, deciding to share it with your mother soon after. “Actually, I did have something interesting happen yesterday. I met this guy named Seonghwa. He told me about a casting call for a fashion show and gave me his number to call if I was interested.”

Your mother sounded both excited and apprehensive. “A casting call? For a fashion show? That sounds amazing! Although it does sound quite intimidating. I mean, you know how that industry works.”

“I know,” you admitted. Truthfully, even as you were discussing it with your mother now, you could still feel the nervousness in your veins. “But I think it could be a great opportunity. Seonghwa seemed really genuine, and he encouraged me to give it a shot. I’ve been researching and preparing, trying to learn as much as I can about the modeling world.”

“That’s wonderful. Life really is full of surprises,” your mother mused. Just like what happened years ago. “I’m so proud of you for taking this step. It’s a big leap, but I believe in you. Just remember to stay true to yourself.”

“I will, Mom,” you promised, hoping you’ll be able to keep it. “I just hope I can make you proud.”

“You already have,” she assured you. “No matter what happens, know that I’m always here for you, supporting you every step of the way.”

A warm smile spread across your face. “Thanks, Mom. That means a lot.”

“So, how are you finding the city itself?” your mother asked, curiosity in her voice. “Have you visited any famous places?”

You let out a hum of confirmation. “I’ve been to a few. The Eiffel Tower, of course. It’s even more impressive in person. And the Louvre... I could spend days there and not see everything.”

“That sounds incredible,” she said wistfully. “I’ve always wanted to visit Paris.”

“Maybe you and Dad can come visit once I’m settled,” you suggested. “I’d love to show you around.”

“We’d love that,” she replied. “It’s been too long since we had a proper family trip.”

“Been too long since I last saw you and Dad in person, too.” You sighed, momentarily glancing at the picture frame of the three of you that you placed on your bedside table. It was a photo of you and your parents taken by a past family friend who had accompanied you one day when you all went camping, with you proudly holding up a blue butterfly that landed on the palm of your hand and your parents pointing to it with a wide smile on their faces. Well, that’s the story your parents told you, at least—you don’t exactly remember anything about this photo at all.

It always made you feel strange whenever you looked at not only the expression you held, but how you appeared to be in general. It was as if you were an entirely different person now. Well, given the circumstances, it would only make perfect sense for things to turn out this way.

You and your mother continued to chat for a few more minutes, sharing stories and catching up. As the conversation began to wind down, she spoke with a soft, loving tone. “Well, I should let you go now. I know you have a lot to prepare for. Just remember, no matter what happens, your father and I are incredibly proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom,” you replied, your voice filled with gratitude. “I really needed to hear that. I miss you both so much.”

“We miss you too, sweetheart,” she said warmly. “Take care of yourself, and don’t forget to call us more often.”

“I will,” you promised. “I love you, Mom.”

“I love you too, dear. Talk to you soon.”

“Bye,” you said softly, and then the line went dead.

Once the call ended, you stared blankly into the void, momentarily forgetting what you said to yourself last night you’d be busying yourself with today. After a few minutes, you finally remembered that you were planning on trying out the tips and tricks about modeling you found on the internet last night.

Sighing softly, you got up from your bed and walked over to your desk, where you had left your notes and the bookmarked pages from your research. You reviewed the various articles, interviews, and videos you had found, feeling a bit more confident about the steps you needed to take.

You decided to start with practicing your posture and walking. Remembering the videos of runway models, you found a clear space in your room and began to practice your walk, focusing on maintaining a straight posture, a confident gaze, and a smooth, rhythmic stride. It felt awkward at first; your steps were hesitant, and you found it difficult to keep your back straight and shoulders relaxed. After a few tries, you tripped over your own feet, almost crashing into the small table next to your bed. You couldn’t help but laugh at yourself, feeling a mix of frustration and embarrassment. But with each attempt, you began to feel more comfortable and natural. You took note of every little adjustment—how to balance your weight, how to move your arms, and how to maintain a steady rhythm. Slowly but surely, you started to see improvement.

Next, you worked on your expressions. You stood in front of the mirror, practicing different looks—smiling with your eyes, projecting confidence, and experimenting with various poses. At first, your attempts felt forced and unnatural. You tried to mimic the intense, sultry look of the models you’d seen, but your reflection looked more like a grimace than a captivating stare. You tried again, softening your features and letting your natural expressions come through. This time, it felt better, but you still weren’t satisfied. You remembered the advice from one of the articles: “Modeling is about conveying emotion and telling a story with your eyes and body language.” You reminded yourself to relax and let your true self shine through. After several tries, you finally managed to capture a look that felt authentic and confident.

You spent the morning diligently working on these aspects, taking breaks to watch more tutorials and gather additional tips. You practiced poses you saw in fashion magazines and tried to emulate the expressions of professional models. It was challenging, and there were moments of frustration when you felt you weren’t making any progress. You tried a pose that seemed simple in the magazine but found it difficult to hold without looking awkward. Your arms and legs felt stiff, and you struggled to find the right angles. But with perseverance, you began to see small improvements. You reminded yourself that this was only your first day and that every bit of progress counted.

Feeling more confident after your practice session, you decided to take things a step further. You set up your phone to take some photos and videos of yourself to review your progress. Seeing yourself on camera was a bit intimidating at first, but it also gave you a better perspective on what you needed to work on. The first few shots were disappointing; your poses looked stiff, and your expressions lacked the confidence you were aiming for. But instead of getting discouraged, you used these as learning experiences. You analyzed what went wrong and made mental notes on how to improve. You tried again, this time with more focus on relaxing your body and letting your natural expressions come through. The results were better, and you felt a sense of accomplishment seeing the improvement.

However, as the day wore on, fatigue and doubt began to creep in. Your feet were sore from practicing your walk, and your face ached from trying different expressions. You started to question whether this path was truly right for you. The idea of facing professional models with years of experience made you feel small and unprepared. Just as you were about to call it a day, your phone buzzed with a message—one from Seonghwa.

Just wanted to wish you luck in advance. I hope you won’t back out. You’ve got this!

You couldn’t help but smile at the message. Seonghwa’s encouragement was exactly what you needed at that moment. You quickly typed a reply, thanking him and letting him know you were giving it your all. His words reignited the spark of determination within you, reminding you why you had decided to take this leap in the first place. You found the energy to continue, knowing that someone believed in your potential.

With renewed motivation, you resumed your practice. You reminded yourself of the progress you had made so far and focused on refining your skills. You practiced different walks, from the elegant strut of a high-fashion runway to the more casual stroll of a commercial model. You experimented with various poses, trying to find the ones that felt most natural to you. You spent time studying your facial expressions in the mirror, learning how to convey different emotions without saying a word. You even practiced changing outfits quickly, simulating the fast-paced environment of a fashion show.

Once you decided you were done preparing for the day, you let yourself slump down on the floor, lying on your back while you stared blankly at the ceiling and reflected on everything you have learned so far and your not-so-steadfast but definitely improving progress. Suddenly, you remembered that Seonghwa had mentioned you should wear a form of attire that is both comfortable yet stylish, something that shows off your personality but is easy to move in for the runway walk.

But what exactly was your personality?

A mild existential crisis set in as you pondered this question. You started to question who you really were and how your personality could be captured through clothing. You had always seen yourself as someone down-to-earth, but how could you translate that into an outfit? You thought about the different aspects of your character, but even with those traits in mind, it was still difficult to pinpoint a specific style that embodied all of them. You wondered if you had ever truly known your own identity or if you had simply been adopting different roles to fit in. The idea of presenting yourself in a way that met the requirements Seonghwa listed felt overwhelming. You began to doubt if you even had a personal style that stood out enough for such an occasion. The thought of walking into the casting room, all eyes on you, judging you based on what you wore and how you carried yourself, made you feel exposed and vulnerable.

Your mind spiraled further as you recalled past moments when you felt unsure about your identity. You remembered times when you changed your style to fit in with different groups or situations, never really settling on what felt authentically you. The fear of being judged, the anxiety of not measuring up, and the constant pressure to conform to societal standards—all of these thoughts weighed heavily on you. You started questioning whether you even deserved this opportunity. Was it really meant for you? Could you handle the pressure? What if you failed and confirmed your worst fears about yourself?

Just then, you remembered the sketchbook you had switched up with your journal. You were still mulling over losing the only thing keeping your thoughts sane—and on your very first day in Paris, too—but you figured that if the sketchbook was currently in your hands, then you might as well use it to your advantage, right?

You sat up, reaching towards the top drawer of your bedside table to take out the sketchbook. Sitting with your legs crossed and your back leaning on your bed, you began flipping through the pages, seeing if there were any designs that would resonate with you.

The designs of each sketch varied greatly from one another. Some were extravagant, some were minimalist, and some were avant-garde. As you carefully turned each page, you suddenly stumbled upon a design that caught your eye. It was a soft, elegant outfit that seemed to perfectly encapsulate the beauty of simplicity. It was a delicate, flowy dress with pastel colors and intricate details, featuring a gentle, cascading skirt that moved gracefully with each step. On the top left corner of the page, there was a small doodle of a pink rose, accompanied by a note that read, “For those days when you need a little extra magic.”

Intrigued, you continued flipping through the pages, looking for more designs that spoke to you. You found another outfit with a similar sense of elegance—this time, a cozy yet stylish ensemble perfect for a crisp fall day. It consisted of a warm, knit sweater paired with a soft, flowing skirt, both in warm, earthy tones that complemented each other beautifully. The outfit exuded a sense of comfort and charm, making it ideal for a day spent enjoying the autumn breeze. This sketch also had a doodle of a pink rose on the top left of the page, with a note that says, “Remember that day in the park? This is for you.”

Your curiosity was piqued, and you began flipping through more of the pages to see if there were more of these designs. Much to your surprise, there actually were—a lot, even. Each outfit that exuded this sense of understated elegance and beauty had a pink rose doodle somewhere on the page, almost as if it were a signature of sorts.

Another outfit caught your attention: a beautifully crafted dress made of light, airy fabric that moved effortlessly with every step. The dress had a gentle, off-shoulder neckline and was adorned with delicate lace details, giving it a timeless, ethereal quality. The pastel color palette added to its dreamlike essence, and the note beside the pink rose doodle read, “For when you want to feel like you’re walking on air, just like that day at the beach.”

As you continued to explore the sketches, you found outfits that ranged from whimsical to sophisticated, each with its own unique charm. One design featured a simple yet elegant blouse paired with tailored trousers, perfect for a casual yet polished look. Another showcased a vintage-inspired dress with a modern twist, complete with intricate embroidery and subtle patterns. Each design had a note that highlighted its intended mood or purpose, adding a personal touch to the sketches. You came across outfits with notes like “When we admired the stars,” and “The night I can’t forget.”

With renewed interest, you went back to the pages with the pink roses, taking your phone to snap pictures of each of them. You examined each design carefully, trying to determine which one resonated with you the most. Some were more whimsical, while others were more sophisticated. Each design had its own charm and character, making it difficult to choose just one. You decided to take your time, analyzing each outfit’s details and imagining how you would feel wearing it. The process was both exciting and overwhelming, as you realized that each design represented a different facet of your personality.

As you snapped pictures of each sketch, you found yourself feeling more confident and inspired. You realized that these designs captured a side of you that you had always cherished—a love for beauty, simplicity, and elegance. You felt a sense of connection to these designs, as if they were an extension of yourself. With each picture you took, you felt a little more prepared for the casting, knowing that you had found something that truly represented who you were.

While you were flipping through the pages and taking photos, you stumbled across the sketch of the bridal gown you saw the first time you looked through the sketchbook. Only now did you notice that it also had a small pink rose on the top left of its page.

Once you were finished, you closed the sketchbook and put it back in your drawer. You stood up and laid down on your bed, scrolling back and forth between the designs you had taken pictures of to see which one would be best to use as inspiration. You blanked out as you landed on the picture of the beautifully crafted dress with an off-shoulder neckline adorned with delicate lace details. Suddenly, a sharp, stinging pain pierced through your temples, making you hiss in surprise. Your vision blurred, and the room seemed to spin.

You tried to focus on the screen, but the pain intensified, spreading from your temples to the back of your head, pulsating with each heartbeat. You quickly turned off the phone, dropping it onto the bed, and clutched your head with both hands. Your eyes squinted shut, and you took deep breaths, trying to ride out the wave of agony.

After what felt like an eternity, the storm began to subside, leaving a dull, throbbing ache in its wake. You let out a frustrated sigh and slowly made your way to the bathroom, gripping the walls for support. Reaching the medicine cupboard, you fumbled for the bottle of painkillers, your hands trembling slightly from the residual pain. You swallowed a pill and leaned heavily against the sink, staring at your reflection in the mirror.

It had been years since you last had such an intense headache. You knew what triggered them, yet why would it happen now, of all times?

As you stood there, the memories of past headaches flashed through your mind. They were always tied to moments of extreme stress or emotional turmoil, but you were just looking at a design earlier, which makes it all the more strange.

Shaking off your thoughts and walking back to your bed, you sat down and continued to scroll through the photos. The image of the dress still haunted you, but you forced yourself to move past it. Despite the headache, there was something compelling about that design. It was almost as if it was calling out to you, urging you to give it a chance.

But why?

🪞 — lividstar.

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Ten: Push and Pull

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 4.6k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ The memory of what happened—or what had almost happened last night, still remained fresh in your mind. As a result, you find yourself on edge as you head to Hongjoong’s agency per Seonghwa’s request, still processing the events that had unfurled. Upon arrival, you notice Hongjoong acting distant, leaving you uneasy. Seonghwa, sensing your discomfort, tries to lighten the mood and catch up, but the tension lingers in your mind as you try to make sense of Hongjoong's sudden change in behavior.

a/n: decided to come back to commemorate ateez’s 6th anniversary 🥳 this chapter’s a bit short but take this as some sort of headstart for what’s about to come! i missed you guys so much

tags: @beabatiny @babymbbatinygirl

The bus rattled along the familiar cobblestone streets of Paris, but your mind was far from the city’s usual charm. Today, the picturesque views outside the window were nothing more than a blur as your thoughts swirled in a mix of anticipation and dread. You sat at the very back, the cool glass of the window pressed against your head as you tried to make sense of the anxious knot in your stomach. Coming to Hongjoong’s agency at Seonghwa’s request, something you usually would’ve been excited about, now felt like a heavy burden. You told yourself it was just another day, another visit to pay.

But deep down, you knew that wasn’t the whole truth.

Over time, things have started to shift between you and Hongjoong—and whatever happened last night was just the nail in the coffin. Even though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it, you could still feel the change in your bones.

Ever since you and Hongjoong had grown closer, there had always been an unspoken connection—a bond that went beyond mere friendship. You’d fallen into a routine of easy familiarity, one that sometimes blurred the lines between what friends typically did. Yet, it had always felt natural, never forced or awkward. But last night was different.

The memory sent a shiver through you as you recalled the way you nearly altered the course of your friendship, had Wooyoung not interrupted the moment. The way he had looked at you like it’s all he’s ever known, the way his breath had hitched as if he had forgotten how to exhale, the way the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you at that very moment... you had felt something shift in that moment, something you weren’t quite ready to confront.

Now, as you sat on the bus, the memory of that moment replayed in your mind, leaving you with a strange mix of longing and confusion. You weren’t sure how you felt about it, or what it meant for your friendship with Hongjoong. Part of you wished he would just forget about it, pretend like it never happened, so you could both go back to the comfortable routine you had established. But another part of you, a quieter, more vulnerable part, wondered what might have happened if you hadn’t been interrupted.

The bus came to a halt, pulling you from your thoughts. This was your stop. You took a deep breath, trying to gather your scattered emotions as you stepped off the bus and onto the pavement. The cool morning air did little to calm your nerves. Each step toward the agency felt heavier than the last, and you found yourself repeating a silent mantra in your head: “Please don’t bring it up. Please don’t bring it up.”

As you entered the building, the familiar cool blast of the air conditioning greeted you, doing little to soothe your anxiety. The agency was bustling with activity as usual, but the usual hustle and bustle felt distant, like background noise that you couldn’t quite focus on. Your thoughts were too preoccupied with the uncertainty of what lay ahead.

Seonghwa had said he would meet you in the lobby, so you headed there, trying to push aside the nerves that twisted in your gut. You weren’t sure what you were more anxious about—seeing Hongjoong after what had almost happened or having to navigate the conversation with Seonghwa while pretending nothing was wrong.

But when you reached the lobby, your heart skipped a beat. Not only was Seonghwa there, but so was Hongjoong. The two of them were sitting on one of the plush couches, chatting casually. Hongjoong’s phone was in his hand, and he seemed relaxed, completely at ease in a way that made your stomach twist even more. How could he be so calm when you felt like you were about to crash out?

Seonghwa noticed you first, his face breaking into a warm smile as he waved you over. “There you are! I was starting to think you got lost on the way,” he teased lightly. But despite his light-heartedness, you could barely muster a smile in return.

“Sorry, the bus took a little longer than I expected,” you replied, your voice slightly strained as you approached them.

Seonghwa stood to greet you properly, but it was Hongjoong you couldn’t keep your eyes off of. “Morning, Hongjoong,” you said, hoping against hope that he would act normal.

For a moment, he looked up from his phone, his eyes meeting yours. But the connection was brief—too brief for your liking, too different from what you’re used to. He nodded curtly, barely holding your gaze for more than a second before looking back down at his phone. “Morning,” he muttered, his tone almost dismissive.

Before you could even process the oddness of his behavior, Hongjoong suddenly stood up, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I have to head out. I’ve got some work I need to finish,” he said abruptly, his voice flat, almost devoid of the usual warmth.

“Oh... okay,” you responded, trying to hide the sting of disappointment that pricked at your heart. Was it because of last night?

Hongjoong barely spared you another glance as he nodded to Seonghwa. “I’ll catch up with you later,” he added before turning on his heel and walking away, his footsteps echoing in the spacious lobby.

You stood there, frozen in place, as you watched him disappear down the hallway with concern etched all over your face.

Seonghwa must have noticed the flicker of confusion and hurt on your face, given how he stepped closer and offered you a gentle smile—one that did little to ease your nerves, but hey, at least he’s trying his best, right?

“Don’t worry about him,” he said softly. “Hongjoong’s always been like that. He gets caught up in his work sometimes.”

But he’s not. You know he’s not like that. At least you think he isn’t—but it’s foolish to try to go against someone who has known him for longer than you have.

So how much do you really know about Hongjoong? Or, better yet—do you even know him at all?

You forced a smile in return, though it felt more like a grimace. “Yeah... maybe,” you murmured, though doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind.

Seonghwa gestured to the couch where he and Hongjoong had been sitting moments before. “Come on, let’s sit. It’s been a while since we’ve had a chance to catch up,” he suggested.

Once you and Seonghwa were settled on the couch, you found yourself nervously fidgeting, your hands gripping the fabric of your dark brown skirt as if it were the only thing anchoring you in place. The soft material bunched under your fingers, and you absentmindedly rubbed the texture between your thumb and forefinger. Your feet, however, seemed to have a mind of their own, your boots tapping lightly against the floor in a consistent rhythm.

Seonghwa watched you for a moment, his eyes softening as he took in your unusually tense demeanor. His smile faded slightly, replaced by a gentle concern as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You seem a bit on edge,” he remarked cautiously, his voice careful not to pry too deeply. “Is everything alright? You’re usually not this quiet.”

You blinked, your attention snapping back to him, realizing you’d been lost in your own head. “Oh, it’s nothing,” you said quickly, your voice higher than usual as you tried to dismiss the worry in his eyes. “Just... tired, I guess.”

But the reassurance felt hollow even as you said it, and Seonghwa didn’t look convinced. His brow furrowed, and he tilted his head slightly, as if trying to read the truth on your face. You could feel his gaze, heavy with unspoken questions, and you squirmed under the scrutiny, your fingers digging deeper into the fabric of your skirt.

You opened your mouth to say something more, to steer the conversation away from the uncomfortable territory it was veering into, but the question slipped out before you could stop it: “Did something happen to Hongjoong before I got here?”

Seonghwa’s expression shifted from concern to mild confusion. He straightened up, his eyes narrowing slightly as he replayed the morning in his head. “Hongjoong? No, not that I know of,” he answered, his tone slow as if he were double-checking his memory. “Actually, he was in a pretty good mood when we were talking. Why do you ask?”

“Oh…” The single word fell from your lips like a stone, heavy and sinking into the silence that followed. You looked down, the tapping of your foot coming to an abrupt halt.

So, it really was because of last night—because of you.

The realization sat uneasily in your chest, a mixture of guilt and confusion swirling together. Why was he acting like this? And why couldn’t you shake the feeling that it was somehow your fault?

The change in your demeanor hadn’t gone unnoticed, and Seonghwa couldn’t help but wonder what had caused the sudden shift. “Did something happen between you two that I should know about?” he asked, the question slipping out before he could think twice about it.

For a brief moment, you hesitated, caught between wanting to confide in him and the desire to just keep it all to yourself. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Seonghwa—far from it. But how could you possibly explain what had almost transpired between you and Hongjoong last night? How could you put into words the tension, the almost unspoken moment that lingered like a specter in your mind? The way you’d both teetered on the edge of something you weren’t sure either of you were ready for?

You glanced up at Seonghwa, your mouth opening to speak, but the words got caught in your throat. You couldn’t bring yourself to say it outright—that you and Hongjoong had almost crossed a line that neither of you would have been able to step back from. Instead, you settled on a question of your own, one that seemed to hover over everything like an unspoken truth. “Is Hongjoong usually the… on and off, push and pull type of person?”

Seonghwa considered your question carefully, his expression thoughtful. He leaned back, his gaze drifting as he seemed to search for the right words. “Hongjoong... he’s complex,” Seonghwa began slowly, choosing his words with caution. “He’s not always the easiest to read, and he definitely has his moments where he pulls away. But it’s not always about the other person. Sometimes it’s more about what’s going on in his own head.”

You nodded, processing Seonghwa’s response, but it did little to soothe the unease gnawing at you. The ambiguity of Hongjoong’s actions left you grappling with your own feelings, wondering if the almost-moment had been a step too far—or if, perhaps, it was a step you weren’t meant to take just yet.

You bit your lip, glancing down at your hands. The words you wanted to say lingered at the tip of your tongue, already too heavy for you to push behind. Finally, you exhaled slowly, grappling with your thoughts as you tried to put them into words.

“What if,” you began, “let’s say you and someone, hypothetically, of course—maybe Hongjoong—were on good terms one night, sharing jokes that only the two of you understand, and it feels like, for a moment, you’re really getting somewhere... like you’re finally diving into a deeper level of friendship. But then, the next day, it’s like you’ve done something wrong. Like suddenly, you’re a stranger, or worse, like you’re a problem that needs to be avoided.”

Seonghwa’s brow furrowed as he listened, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed your words. A beat passed in silence, his expression shifting from confusion to something more knowing. “You’re talking about yourself, aren’t you?” he asked—but you knew denying it would be foolish, because it seems like he already knows the answer and is just waiting for you to confirm his hypothesis.

But of course, it’s still embarrassing to give in right away.

You immediately shook your head, your denial quick and a little too forceful. “No, no,” you stammered, a nervous laugh bubbling up to cover the crack in your composure. “It’s just a hypothetical situation. A... a thought experiment, really. That doesn’t apply to Hongjoong and me—we’re on good terms.”

Even as the words left your mouth, they felt flimsy and false, as insubstantial as smoke. It was a lie—a denial that you hoped would convince not just Seonghwa but also yourself. What a sin it was to lie to yourself, you thought, feeling the sting of your own dishonesty more acutely than you’d expected. But how could you admit the truth when it was still so raw, so undefined even in your own mind?

Seonghwa didn’t look entirely convinced, his eyes lingering on you as though trying to see past the mask you’d hastily thrown on. But after a moment, he nodded, though the crease between his brows remained. “Alright,” he said slowly, granting you the benefit of the doubt, though you could sense the lingering skepticism in his tone. “If it’s just a hypothetical situation...”

He leaned back, crossing his arms as he thought it over, considering your so-called analysis. “Well,” he began thoughtfully, “if someone acts like that, it’s usually because they’re dealing with something internally. It might have nothing to do with you at all. Sometimes people pull away because they’re scared of how close they’re getting, or maybe because they’re battling their own insecurities. It’s not necessarily fair to the other person, but it’s not always about them either. It’s about the person who’s pulling back, struggling with their own feelings or fears. The push and pull, as confusing as it is, isn’t always meant to hurt. Sometimes it’s just... a defense mechanism? That’s what I’d call it.”

He paused, watching you closely, as if gauging your reaction to his words. “But if that person cares,” Seonghwa continued, his voice softening, “they’ll come back around. It might take time, but if they really value the relationship, they’ll find a way to bridge the gap. It’s just... sometimes people need to work through their own stuff before they can fully be there for someone else.”

You nodded along, your mind racing with Seonghwa’s explanation, each word resonating in a way that hit too close to home. Could that be it? Was Hongjoong simply trying to figure out his own feelings, or was there something deeper at play?

After the conversation with Seonghwa, you decide to distract yourself by exploring the agency a bit more. Seonghwa suggests visiting one of the studios, a familiar place where the designers and models are usually busy creating the next big thing. The idea seems harmless enough, and you hope it might help you take your mind off the tangled mess of emotions still buzzing in your head.

As you and Seonghwa walk through the halls, the lively chatter and the click of heels on the polished floors provide a backdrop that usually energizes you. But today, everything feels muted, like you’re watching from behind a glass wall. You can’t shake the lingering sense of discomfort from your earlier encounter with Hongjoong, and as you enter the studio, the atmosphere seems to weigh down on you.

Hongjoong is there, of course—standing by a sketchboard, deep in conversation with another designer. He’s gesturing animatedly, pointing out details on the paper, his passion for his work evident even from a distance. For a moment, you’re content to just observe him, the sight of him in his element stirring a fondness that you can’t quite suppress. But then, as if sensing your presence, he glances up. Your eyes meet, and the world seems to still for a heartbeat.

But instead of acknowledging you, Hongjoong’s expression closes off, and he turns back to his work without so much as a nod. The dismissal stings, sharper than you expected. It’s as if he’s deliberately keeping you at arm’s length, and the casual disregard feels like a slap in the face. Seonghwa, noticing the sudden shift in your demeanor, gives you a questioning look, but you just shrug, feigning indifference.

The designers break for a moment, and Seonghwa waves Hongjoong over. Hongjoong approaches, but his steps are slow, reluctant. When he finally reaches you, he barely spares you a glance. “Hey,” he mumbles, his voice flat and devoid of the warmth you’ve come to expect. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking anywhere but at you.

Seonghwa tries to engage him in conversation, asking about his latest designs and upcoming plans, but Hongjoong’s responses are curt and to the point. The easy camaraderie you’d seen between him and Seonghwa earlier has vanished, replaced by a stilted formality that makes the air feel thick and uncomfortable. You can’t help but feel like an intruder, caught in the middle of a conversation that’s turned cold and impersonal.

When Seonghwa finally asks if Hongjoong has time to catch up, Hongjoong hesitates, his eyes flitting to yours for just a split second before they drop to the floor. His lips press into a thin line, as if he’s considering the implications of staying versus leaving. Finally, he shakes his head. “I can’t right now,” he says, not quite meeting Seonghwa’s eyes. “There’s too much to get done.”

The excuse sounds flimsy even to your own ears, but Seonghwa simply nods, accepting it without questioning his words. You, however, can’t help the sharp pang of disappointment that tugs at your chest. It’s not just the fact that Hongjoong doesn’t want to stay and chat; it’s the way he won’t even look at you, like he’s deliberately avoiding your presence, and it’s almost as if you’re invisible.

“Alright, no worries,” Seonghwa replies with a casual shrug, though you notice the slight crease in his brow—a sign that he’s picked up on the tension, even if he doesn’t fully understand it. He claps Hongjoong on the shoulder, trying to keep the mood light. “We’ll catch up some other time, then.”

Hongjoong nods absently, already half-turned back towards his work. “Yeah, sure,” he mutters, but there’s no conviction behind his words. His eyes flick to the sketches on the wall, and it’s as if the conversation is already forgotten, his focus shifting entirely away from you and Seonghwa. Without another word, he walks back to the sketchboard, resuming his conversation with the other designer as if the brief interaction never happened.

The sting of his indifference leaves you reeling, and you’re not sure whether to feel angry, hurt, or both. It’s as if last night’s near-moment had flipped a switch inside him, and now you’re paying the price for whatever crossed line he thinks was drawn. You swallow hard, fighting the urge to call after him, to demand an explanation, but the words die in your throat. This isn’t the place for that—there’s too much at stake, too many eyes watching.

Seonghwa glances at you, concern flickering in his gaze. “Don’t take it to heart,” he says quietly, as if seeing right through you. “He’s probably just stressed. You know how he gets when he’s in the zone.”

You nod, forcing a tight smile, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, I know,” you reply, but the words feel hollow. Deep down, you can’t shake the feeling that this is more than just stress or a busy schedule. There’s something else at play, something simmering beneath the surface that neither of you can quite grasp.

Seonghwa leads you away from the studio, and you follow in silence, your mind replaying the brief encounter over and over like a broken record. Every glance, every dismissive gesture, every word left unsaid feels like another tiny wound, each one building on the last until they form a gaping chasm between you and Hongjoong that you’re not sure how to bridge.

As you walk, Seonghwa tries to fill the quiet with idle chatter, talking about some of the upcoming projects and the new talent the agency is scouting. You nod along, but your thoughts are miles away—it’s like you’re caught in a loop, circling around the same questions with no clear answers in sight.

Finally, Seonghwa stops in front of a glass door leading to one of the agency’s rooftop lounges. He turns to you, his expression softening as he takes in your distant look. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks gently. “I mean, really talk about it. I know you said it’s hypothetical, but... it doesn’t feel that way.”

You hesitate, your gaze drifting to the floor. Part of you wants to open up, to spill everything that’s been weighing on your heart, but another part of you holds back, afraid of what admitting the truth might mean. You’ve always prided yourself on being able to handle your own feelings, to keep them neatly tucked away where they can’t cause trouble. But this... this is different.

“I don’t know,” you finally admit, your voice as silent as the wind’s whispers. “I just... I don’t want to make things worse. And I don’t even know what’s going on in his head.”

Seonghwa watches you, his expression unreadable for a moment before it softens into something more empathetic. “Sometimes, you just have to let people work through their own stuff,” he says quietly. “You can’t always fix it, no matter how much you want to. But that doesn’t mean you’re alone in it. If you ever need to talk or just... figure things out, I’m here.”

You nod, a small, grateful smile tugging at your lips. It’s not much, but it’s enough for now. The comfort of knowing that at least someone understands, even if only a little, helps to ease the tightness in your chest.

Seonghwa gives your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before turning to push open the door, letting the cool breeze from the rooftop wash over you both. You follow him out, letting the fresh air clear your mind, even if just for a moment. It’s a brief reprieve from the tangled mess of your thoughts, but it’s one you’re grateful for.

Sitting down on one of the chairs, you let out a sigh, fingers nervously tracing patterns on the hem of your skirt as your thoughts spiral. Seonghwa watches you quietly, giving you the space to process, but his curiosity is palpable. He waits, his presence a silent invitation for you to unload whatever has you troubled.

“I don’t even know why I’m looking too deeply into it—and that’s what’s bothering me the most,” you murmur, your voice so soft it almost gets lost in the quiet hum of the lobby. It feels like you’re confessing a secret, something fragile that might shatter if spoken too loudly. And maybe, in a way, you are.

Seonghwa furrows his brow, leaning in slightly as if to catch your words more clearly. “Why? What do you mean?” he asks, genuinely puzzled.

You hesitate, your gaze flitting from the floor to Seonghwa’s face before dropping back down, as if even his gaze is too much to bear right now. “Don’t you... don’t you think so, too?” you ask, your tone laced with uncertainty, like you’re searching for validation but already dreading the answer.

Seonghwa tilts his head, still looking lost. “Not at all... why do you feel like you’re overthinking it way too much?”

“Well, for starters, we’re friends,” you begin, your words spilling out in a rush. You’re so caught up in your own explanation that you miss the flicker of amusement that dances in Seonghwa’s eyes, the way his lips twitch upward as if he’s holding back a knowing smile.

“Right… friends.” Seonghwa nods along, doing his best to maintain a neutral expression. “And?”

“I don’t know, I just feel like... well, I feel like I’m being a terrible friend by overthinking his need for personal space. Screw that—can I even call myself a friend of his if I don’t know how to respect the fact that he needs time to work through his own stuff?” You pause, your frustration bubbling to the surface as you try to articulate your emotions. “Me, personally, I’d feel off if I’m just having a bad day and a friend of mine decides to make it about them by asking, ‘Are you mad at me?’ But like, I just...”

Your words trail off, the rest of your thoughts jumbled and disjointed in your mind. You glance at Seonghwa, waiting for some sort of reaction, half-expecting him to agree that you’re being ridiculous, that you’re blowing things out of proportion. Instead, he gives you a sympathetic smile, his eyes warm with understanding.

“Listen,” Seonghwa starts, leaning back against the chair across you, adopting a more relaxed posture as if to put you at ease. “I get where you’re coming from. It’s easy to feel like you’re overstepping when you care about someone and you’re not sure how to navigate their boundaries. But you know what? Friendship—if that’s still what you wanna call whatever’s going on between you and Hongjoong—isn’t about getting it right all the time. It’s about being there, even when you’re not sure if you’re doing it perfectly.”

You let his words sink in, but the doubt still lingers at the edges of your mind. “But what if I am overstepping?” you press, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice. “What if he needs space and I’m just making things worse by worrying about it?”

Seonghwa chuckles softly, his laughter a gentle, reassuring sound. “You’re human, you know that, right? Not some perfect robot programmed to always know the right thing to do. Besides,” he adds with a playful smirk, “I’ve seen the way you and Hongjoong look at each other. I think he’d forgive you for overthinking a little.”

Your eyes widen, heat rushing to your cheeks at the implication behind Seonghwa’s words. “What—what’s that supposed to mean?” you stammer, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “There’s nothing like that between us. We’re just…”

Seonghwa raises an eyebrow, a mischievous expression forming on his face as he watches you wave him off. “Right, friends. Just friends who get all worked up when the other one’s being moody,” he teases, wiggling his eyebrows. “Come on, you’re acting like Hongjoong’s the only one with feelings here.”

You groan, feeling your face flush. “Don’t say that!” you protest, covering your face with your hands, wishing you could somehow hide from the embarrassment. “It’s not like that. I just—he’s important to me, okay? And I don’t like not knowing where I stand.”

“Relax, I’m just messing with you,” Seonghwa chuckles, though his eyes soften with understanding. “Look, maybe he’s just having one of those days. You know how Hongjoong is—sometimes he gets in his head and needs a little space to sort through his thoughts. But that doesn’t mean he’s upset with you, or that you’ve done something wrong.”

You exhale slowly, letting Seonghwa’s words wash over you. He’s right, of course. Hongjoong has always been the type to retreat inward when things get overwhelming, and you know that better than most. But knowing it and accepting it are two different things, and it’s hard not to let your own insecurities creep in when faced with his sudden distance.

Seonghwa reaches over, giving your knee a reassuring pat. “Hey, you’re doing your best. And if you ever need to talk, or if you just need to be distracted from it all, you know I’m here for you.”

You smile, though it’s small and a bit shaky. “Thanks, Seonghwa,” you say quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grins, the teasing glint returning to his eyes. “Well, for starters, you’d probably be even more of a mess than you are now,” he jokes, earning a light punch to the arm from you. But then his expression softens again, sincerity shining through. “Seriously, though. You’re not alone in this. And whatever happens with Hongjoong, you’ll figure it out.”

Hopefully.

🪞 — lividstar.