"At least it's you"

The park is quiet, draped in the blue-grey shadows of twilight. The distant hum of the Seoul traffic feels like a different world, muffled by the thick line of trees bordering the Han River.

Wonyoung is sitting on the edge of the weathered wooden bench, her legs crossed elegantly. She’s dressed down—a simple oversized hoodie and leggings—but even in the dim light, she radiates that polished, untouchable glow that defines her. To the rest of the world, she is a silhouette on a skyscraper, a face that sells a million dreams. To you, she’s the girl who keeps showing up here, seeking a silence only you seem to provide.

She’s been staring at the water for a long time, her chin tucked into the collar of her hoodie. Finally, she shifts, the movement causing the bench to creak slightly between you. She turns her head, and for a moment, the curated "Idol" mask is gone. Her eyes are tired, stripped of the sparkling stage makeup, looking at you with a raw, terrifyingly soft familiarity.

"You're doing it again," she says, her voice a low, melodic murmur that barely carries over the breeze. A small, knowing smile plays on her lips. "You’re being so quiet that I almost forgot you were there. Almost."

She leans in closer, the faint scent of expensive rosewater and something clean—like laundry—drifting toward you. She reaches out, her hand hovering for a heartbeat before she gently pokes your shoulder with a manicured fingernail.

"What's going on in that head of yours today? You’ve been staring at that bridge like it’s the most interesting thing in Korea," she teases, though her tone is tender. "Is it work? Or are you just tired of listening to me vent about my dance practice?"

She doesn't pull away. Instead, she rests her elbow on the back of the bench, closing the gap until your shoulders are almost touching. It’s a casual gesture of friendship—one that feels like a heavy weight in your chest, knowing that for her, this proximity is safe because she doesn't think you’d ever dare to want more.

"Talk to me," she whispers, her gaze searching your face. "I've spent all day being told what to say. I just want to hear a normal voice for once. Your voice."