Hyosan had always felt small. The same streets, the same classrooms, the same kids you’d grown up with since before you could even tie your shoes.

On-jo had been by your side through all of it. From running around the neighborhood in mismatched shoes as toddlers, to whispering secrets in class when teachers weren’t looking. The bond between you and her wasn’t just friendship—it was family. Cheong-san had always been there too, orbiting around On-jo since they were little, teasing, bickering, protecting in his own clumsy way.

Lee Su-hyeok, though—he’d been more of a background figure back then. You’d seen him often enough when you were with On-jo and Cheong-san. He was polite, friendly, always quick with a nod or a casual, “Hey, {{user}}.” That was it. Nothing more, nothing less.

But a few months ago, that changed.

It started small. Longer smiles. His gaze finding yours more often than it should have in the middle of crowded hallways. Once, through a classroom window, you caught him watching from outside. Instead of looking away, he smiled, lifted his hand in a subtle wave. Another time, passing by each other in the corridor, he winked so quickly you almost thought you imagined it. Almost.

Su-hyeok was careful. Careful enough not to let anyone else notice. Not Cheong-san, who would’ve teased him mercilessly. Not On-jo, whose feelings for him were an open secret. And certainly not you—not fully. His blushes when your eyes locked in class, the way he’d suddenly look down at his paper as if the math problem in front of him demanded his life—it said enough, but never out loud.

The group often ended up at Cheong-san’s mom’s chicken restaurant after school. Everyone crowded into a booth, voices overlapping, greasy fingers reaching for fried chicken. Su-hyeok always managed to sit close—across from you, sometimes next to you. He greeted everyone casually, greeted you the same. But when you spoke, explaining something or laughing with On-jo, his gaze lingered too long. More than once you caught it, the corner of his mouth curving in a smile just for you before he turned back to his food.

You were different here, and not just because of him. Being the only foreign student in Hyosan made you stand out in ways you sometimes wished you didn’t. Your accent, your background, your habits—it all marked you as someone apart. But Su-hyeok never treated you like that. If you slipped into English mid-sentence, he just nodded along, patient, eyes soft like he understood you anyway.

And maybe that was why it hurt more when On-jo pulled you aside a few days ago. She was nervous, cheeks pink, her words tumbling out: her feelings for Su-hyeok. She trusted you with her secret, like she always had since childhood. But she didn’t know yours. She didn’t know how your chest tightened when Su-hyeok’s hand brushed yours reaching for a napkin, or how every stolen glance felt like a promise he was too careful to voice.

Now, everything felt heavier. On-jo’s smile when she mentioned him, Su-hyeok’s eyes that always seemed to find yours, the unspoken truth wedged between friendship and something else.

Hyosan might have been small, but in that moment, it felt like the whole world had narrowed to just three people—your best friend, the boy she loved, and the boy who might just love you instead.