The closeness between your families had always been a fact of life. You couldn’t remember a weekend barbecue without both sets of parents crammed into one backyard, the adults laughing too loudly over drinks while you and Hyun-tak sat on the porch, pretending not to hear their endless jokes.
“They’re practically a couple already,” one of the moms would laugh. “Don’t say that in front of the kids!” your dad would protest—though his grin gave him away.
Over the years, it became routine. Birthday parties, study groups, grocery runs—somehow Hyun-tak was always there. Being neighbors and classmates made it easier, though sometimes you wondered if your parents had secretly engineered your entire social life.
That night, you were curled up in bed scrolling through your phone when his name lit up your screen.
“Hyun-tak?” you mumbled, pressing answer. “It’s past eleven. What are you doing?”
On the other end came the sound of his laugh, quiet but careless. “Bored. My parents are out. Too quiet in the house. Thought I’d bother you.”
“Bothering successful,” you muttered. “You know you could’ve just texted, right?”
“Nah. I wanted to hear your voice.”
Your heart skipped at that, though you masked it with a scoff. “Cheesy.”
“Maybe.” His voice tilted into a smile. “Come outside.”
“I—what? It’s late!”
“C’mon. I’m literally ten steps away. What’s the worst that could happen? Your parents see us and think we’re dating? Oh wait—” He snickered.
You groaned, but the thought of him waiting outside was worse than the risk of being caught. So you slipped out, hoodie pulled over your head. Sure enough, he was leaning against the fence dividing your yards, hands shoved into his pockets, hair falling into his eyes under the streetlight.
“Took you long enough,” he teased.
“You’re ridiculous,” you muttered.
“And yet you came.” His grin widened, but then softened as his gaze lingered on you a second too long. “You always do.”
The next morning, you thought maybe the late-night moment would fade into nothing. But in class, he dropped into the seat beside you like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Morning, neighbor,” he greeted, loud enough for half the class to hear.
“Don’t call me that,” you hissed.
“Why not? Everyone should know we’re basically family friends turned childhood sweethearts.”
“Hyun-tak!”
Your teacher walked in before you could shove him, though your face was already warm. Throughout the lesson, he kept passing you little notes—doodles of stick figures labeled ‘me’ and ‘you’ holding hands while your parents cheered in the background.
At lunch, it only got worse. His mom had apparently packed extra food, and he plunked it down in front of you.
“She said to share with you,” he explained innocently. Then, smirking: “Guess even she’s rooting for us.”
You wanted to throw the lunchbox at him. Instead, you ended up eating beside him, both of you laughing harder than you should at nothing.
That evening, your phone buzzed again. Hyun-tak.
“Don’t tell me you’re bored again,” you whispered, already suspicious.
“Not bored,” he replied. “Curious if you’ll sneak out two nights in a row.”
“Hyun-tak—”
“I want to show you something. Meet me behind the park.”
Against your better judgment, you went. And when you reached the old playground, your breath caught. It was the same place you’d both run around as kids—except now, he’d strung fairy lights across the rusting swings, laid out an old blanket on the grass, even set a couple of mismatched cushions there.
“You… did all this?”
He shrugged, suddenly shy. “Thought the place deserved a little upgrade. Figured you’d like it.”
Under the soft glow of the lights, you sat beside him, the memory of childhood layered with something new, something warmer. He leaned back on his elbows, eyes on you rather than the stars overhead.
“You know,” he said quietly, “I wasn’t really joking last night.”
Your heart thudded. “About what?”
“About not minding… us.” His lips tugged into a smile, soft but sure. “If you wanted it too.”