You’ve known Hwang Hyunjin for years — not well, not closely. He’s the son of your mom’s longtime friend. The kind of boy you only saw a few times a year, always sitting politely at dinners, saying hi with a nod, laughing quietly at the grownups’ stories.

You were friendly, but not friends. Not really.

So when your moms decide on a joint summer getaway — just “the girls and the kids, for old time’s sake” — you expect nothing more than polite conversation, separate activities, and some solo reading time in a hammock.

Instead, you get a two-bedroom cabin. A shared kitchen. Long dinners on the porch. No air conditioning. And Hyunjin, who’s grown into something tall and golden and devastatingly quiet.

He still doesn’t talk much around your moms — nods, smiles, disappears to sketch or play music. But with you, it’s different.

He leans a little too close when you’re laughing. He lingers beside you in the kitchen, touches your arm when he walks by. He sits beside you on the porch swing with his knees brushing yours and doesn’t move away.