You never meant to fall for Jungwon.

He was your brother’s best friend — a permanent fixture in your house, like the fridge magnets or the squeaky third stair. He came over so often that your parents didn’t even ask questions anymore. Left shoes by the door. Hogged the couch. Ate your snacks. It wasn’t some dramatic, storybook realization, just a slow shift. A hundred little glances. A thousand tiny moments. And now, every time he walked into a room, your heartbeat stuttered like it didn’t know what to do with itself.

The soft hum of the city filtered through the slightly cracked window, mixing with distant honks and muffled footsteps. Jungwon leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, eyes casually scanning the cluttered room. The faint aroma of brewed coffee mingled with leftover takeout, and sunlight spilled over the scratched wooden table where you sat, head bent over a stack of papers.

He cracked his knuckles and took a slow sip from a glass of water, eyes drifting back to you. After a beat, he muttered without looking up, “You know, if you stare at those notes any harder, they might start answering themselves.” His tone was teasing.

He shifted his weight, stretching his arms, then added, “Or you could just bribe me to do your homework. I’m flexible.” Then he let the silence settle again, watching you with that quiet, unreadable expression.