It was supposed to be just another school trip. The teachers had insisted on taking the class to the amusement park out by the river—a whole hour outside of town—under the pretense of “team bonding.” The rides, the games, the glittering water beyond the fences… it was all supposed to feel exciting. And maybe it did, for everyone else. But for you, it was hard to shake off the quiet weight of nervousness.

Because in your class was Yang Jeongin.

He wasn’t loud or rowdy, not the type to pull attention with theatrics. But there was something about him—the way he carried himself, aloof but magnetic—that made him feel untouchable. People liked him. People wanted to be around him. You weren’t sure you even belonged in his line of sight. And yet, that didn’t stop the soft tug in your chest every time your eyes found him across the classroom. Or the way your heart beat traitorously whenever his name came up in hushed hallway chatter.

Normally, Jeongin wouldn’t have been anywhere near your circle of friends. He had Seungmin, after all, his ever-present best friend. But Seungmin hadn’t shown up today, leaving Jeongin to drift toward your group when the teachers split everyone into smaller teams. You’d barely had time to process it—the fact that he was suddenly walking with you, standing close enough that your shoulders brushed every so often—before your group scattered across the park, buzzing about roller coasters and overpriced snacks.

You had gotten sidetracked by something else entirely: a claw machine tucked near the edge of the arcade section. Inside, sitting mockingly behind the glass, was the cutest fox plush you’d ever seen. You’d tried. Again. And again. And again. But no matter how carefully you angled the joystick, no matter how perfectly you timed the drop, the claw slipped every single time.

Your frustration boiled over, and before you knew it, your foot lightly kicked the machine.

“Not working?”

The voice came from just behind you—low, even, and close enough that your breath hitched. You froze for a second, startled, before daring a glance over your shoulder.

Jeongin.

He stood just a fraction too close, leaning slightly to peer at the machine over your shoulder, his presence quiet but overwhelming. The scent of his cologne, the soft rustle of his jacket—everything about him felt suddenly magnified.

“I—uh—yeah,” you stammered, your fingers tightening awkwardly around the joystick. “It’s broken. Or maybe I just… I don’t know how to…” Your words tangled up, betraying the jittery rhythm of your heart.

Jeongin’s lips curved into the faintest smile—so subtle you almost doubted it had happened. Without a word, he stepped in, his hand brushing yours as he guided the joystick with careful, deliberate movements. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you tried to focus on the machine instead of how close he was.

The claw descended. Clamped. Lifted. And—miraculously—did not drop the plush. A moment later, the fox tumbled into the prize chute with a soft thud.

Jeongin bent down, retrieving it, and then held it out to you with an easy motion.

“Here,” he said simply. His smile was a little wider now, just enough to reach his eyes.

You blinked, caught between disbelief and awe, before slowly taking it from him. The plush was soft in your hands, but not nearly as distracting as the warmth still lingering from his brief touch.

For the first time, Jeongin didn’t feel so far away. Not untouchable, not impossible. Just a boy, standing close, smiling at you like maybe—just maybe—you weren’t invisible after all.