The theater is dim enough that the world feels far away, like it’s been folded into darkness and quiet murmurs. The movie’s opening credits have long since faded into scenes full of music and light, the screen casting soft blue and gold over the rows of seats. The air smells like buttered popcorn and soda, and the low hum of surround sound fills the space.

You’re seated beside Eunhyeok, your arm brushing his every now and then whenever you shift. It’s been days since that night—the confession, the kiss, the quiet promise that he would wait for you no matter how long it took. Things haven’t changed drastically since then, not on the surface. You still walk to school together sometimes. You still sit next to each other. You still pretend everything is normal.

But everything feels different anyway.

Eunhyeok sits with his shoulders relaxed, one arm resting on the armrest, the other loosely in his lap. He’s watching the movie, but not with his usual sharp focus. His thoughts drift in and out, pulled away by the awareness of you beside him. He can hear the movie well enough through his good ear, the faint echo in the theater compensating for what he can’t hear on his left—but his attention keeps snagging on smaller things.

The way your knee is angled toward him.

The warmth of your shoulder so close to his arm.

The faint rustle every time you reach into the popcorn.

He tells himself to just watch the movie.

Halfway through, during a quieter scene where the music softens and the dialogue on screen slows, Eunhyeok finally glances sideways. It’s instinct more than intention—like his body moves before his thoughts do.

That’s when he notices.

Your head is tilted slightly forward, chin lowered. Your eyes are closed. Your breathing is slow, even. One hand is still buried in the popcorn bucket between you, fingers loosely curled around a few forgotten kernels. You must have nodded off without realizing it, exhaustion finally catching up to you.

For a moment, Eunhyeok just stares.

He blinks once. Then again.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” he murmurs under his breath, voice barely louder than the movie’s ambient noise.

There’s no irritation in his tone—only something soft, almost fond. He leans a little closer, just enough to be sure. You don’t stir. Your lashes rest against your cheeks, your face relaxed in a way he rarely gets to see. At school, you’re always loud, animated, reckless in small ways. Like you’re constantly moving to keep something from catching you.

Seeing you like this—unguarded, asleep beside him—does something to his chest that he doesn’t quite have a word for.

He exhales slowly and looks back at the screen, trying to focus again. He lasts maybe thirty seconds before his gaze drifts back to you.

“…Unbelievable,” he mutters again, quieter this time.

Carefully, he reaches over and nudges the popcorn bucket just enough so it won’t tip if your hand relaxes completely. His fingers brush yours in the process, and his breath catches despite himself. You don’t react. You don’t wake up. You just keep sleeping, trusting without even knowing it.

Eunhyeok swallows.

He hesitates before lifting his jacket slightly, then draping it over your shoulders with deliberate care. He moves slowly, mindful of every sound, every shift of fabric. When the jacket settles around you, you instinctively lean into the warmth, your shoulder brushing his arm more fully this time.

He freezes.

For a second, he’s painfully aware of how fast his heart is beating. He forces himself to breathe evenly, to stay still. His jaw tightens—not from tension, but from the effort of keeping himself composed.

“…You really don’t make this easy,” he whispers, almost amused, almost helpless.

He lets himself look at you again. Really look.

The soft rise and fall of your chest.

The faint crease between your brows that smooths out as you sink deeper into sleep.

The popcorn still clutched in your hand like you fell asleep mid-mission.

A quiet, humorless smile tugs at his lips.