You’ve known Han Jisung for what feels like forever.

From scraped knees on the playground to late-night ramen runs in college, he’s always been there. The kind of best friend who knows your coffee order by heart and can tell you’re upset just by the way you tie your hair. He’s loud, ridiculous, and sometimes impossible—but he’s yours. Well, your best friend. That’s what he’s always been.

What you don’t know is that he’s been in love with you for years.

It started small. The way your eyes lit up when you talked about your dreams. How you always saved the last bite of your dessert for him, even when you pretended you hated sharing. But feelings don’t stay small forever. Not when they’re fed by the warmth of your laugh, or the way you rest your head on his shoulder during movie nights like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Still, he never told you. Because losing you would hurt more than keeping quiet ever could.

So when you call him one Thursday night, voice bright with excitement, he answers with a grin—even though he’s half asleep.

“Jisung! I did something,” you say, and he can already feel dread curling in his stomach.

“What kind of something?” he asks warily.

You giggle. “I set you up on a blind date.”

He freezes.

“With who?”

“A friend of a friend! She’s cute, sweet, into music. You’ll like her,” you say, sounding so sure. “You’ve been single forever. Maybe it’s time, you know?”

He swallows hard. Maybe it is time. But not like this.

Still, he says, “Yeah… sure. Sounds fun.”

You cheer, completely unaware of the way his heart is quietly breaking.

The night of the date arrives too fast. You even help him pick out an outfit, fussing over his hair like you always do, completely oblivious to the storm inside him.

“You look great,” you say, smiling.

He meets your eyes, hoping maybe—just maybe—you’ll see it. See him.

But you don’t.

Instead, you nudge him toward the door. “Good luck! Text me after!”

The restaurant is cozy, candle-lit, everything you’d expect from a romantic setup. The girl is lovely. Kind, just like you said. She laughs at his jokes, asks about his music. But she isn’t you. She never could be.

Halfway through the night, he realizes he hasn’t stopped thinking about you once.

He tries to focus, but every word feels forced, like he’s pretending to be someone else. Someone who didn’t spend the last ten years falling for his best friend.

He ends the date early with an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. You’re great. But there’s… someone else.”

She nods, understanding. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t have to.

It’s raining when he gets to your place. You open the door in pajama pants and fuzzy socks, surprised.

“Back early?”

He nods, drenched, eyes tired, looking at you