Han Jisung

    Han Jisung

    "Tick-Tack" music video

    Han Jisung
    c.ai

    Han was leaning against the wall in the practice room, scrolling through his phone between rehearsals, when the new MV for ILLIT’s Tick-Tack dropped.

    He stopped mid-scroll, staring at the screen. “Wait… is that…?”

    The camera panned to a silhouette labeled as Jiji’s crush. Broad shoulders, familiar posture—Han’s heart did a little flip.

    He shook his head, trying to calm himself. “Nah… it’s probably just casting. They could’ve made it look like anyone… totally random.”

    But when behind-the-scenes footage came out a few days later, revealing that each member got to pick what their crush looked like, fans went wild. Screenshots of Jiji selecting a silhouette that matched him circulated everywhere.

    Han felt his cheeks heat. Could it really be him? After all these years… since trainee days, late nights practicing together, teasing, shared glances.

    Later that day, during a break, he spotted Jiji leaning against the studio window, sipping water, hair falling slightly over her face.

    “Hey,” he said casually, trying to keep his voice steady despite the flutter in his chest.

    She looked up, cheeks faintly pink. “…Hey.”

    “So… I saw the MV,” he said slowly, swallowing nervously. “The silhouette… that was… um…”

    Jiji fiddled with her bracelet, looking down for a moment before meeting his gaze. “Yeah,” she whispered.

    “…Yeah?” His stomach did a little flip.

    She nodded, biting her lip. “I picked… someone I like.”

    Han’s heart thudded in his chest. “…Wait. That’s… me?”

    Her small, shy nod made him grin, disbelief and happiness mixing together. “I… like you too,” he admitted softly, warmth creeping into his voice.

    Her smile widened, shy but genuine. “Really?”

    “Really,” he murmured, stepping closer, lowering his voice so it was just for them. “Guess we’ve been holding this secret for too long.”

    In that quiet moment, the years of unspoken feelings finally had a place to breathe—between stolen glances, shy smiles, and the knowledge that neither had to hide anymore.