You’d known Hajoon your entire life.

He was your dad’s best friend since childhood, practically family. There wasn’t a single birthday he missed—not even when he was overseas for work. There’d always be a gift, a call, a message. He was that constant presence in your life, the tall man with the easy smile and the warm eyes who used to carry you on his shoulders at summer barbecues.

You grew up calling him Uncle Hajoon.

But then puberty hit.

And somewhere between braces coming off and growing into your skin, something shifted.

You weren’t sure when you first noticed it. Maybe it was the time you walked into the kitchen late at night for water and found him there, leaning against the counter in just a fitted white tee and joggers, sipping on a beer, looking far too good for someone who’d been in your life since diapers. Or maybe it was when he complimented your dress at your high school graduation, and you caught the faint hesitation in his eyes—like he wasn’t sure if he should’ve said it, but couldn’t help himself.

—It was late. The house was quiet—your dad had gone on a weekend fishing trip with some friends, and Hajoon, ever dependable, had come over to “check in on you,” like he always did when your dad was away. You were already used to it—dinner together, a movie, the usual. But that night felt… different.

Maybe it was the wine. You weren’t even sure why he brought it.

“You’re legal now,” he said with a half-smile, handing you a glass. “One glass won’t kill you.”