It was 1998, and the fencing hall had become your second home. The place always smelled faintly of sweat, waxed floors, and cold steel, a mix that somehow felt comforting after long days of lectures and homework. That was where you met Sunghoon; lean, focused, and quiet, moving across the floor with a kind of grace that didn’t need words. He wasn’t the type to crack loud jokes or draw attention to himself, but there was a calm about him, a steady presence that pulled you in without effort.

It started with little things. The way his eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, the rare smile he’d give after a spar, or the brush of his hand when he passed you a foil. And when he asked you out after practice one evening, breathing hard and still holding his mask, you didn’t hesitate.

Months later, your lives had quietly entwined. And now, here you were. lying in your room, the night draped around you, lit only by the warm orange glow of your bedside lamp. Outside, the world was hushed, a rare kind of silence that made you restless.

Your old flip phone buzzed suddenly on the nightstand. The sharp vibration cut through the quiet, and when you leaned over to check, the screen glowed faintly: 23:44.

One new message.

“open your window ;)”

Heart skipping, you slipped out from under the sheets and padded across the room, careful not to make the floor creak. You pulled back the curtain, and there he was.

Sunghoon, standing just below your window, in a denim jacket and white sneakers, one hand shoved in his pocket and the other waving softly. His hair was a little messy, and there was that familiar boyish smile on his face—the one that always made your chest flutter.

Your parents were out for the night, thank God. Especially your father, who never approved of Sunghoon. but you knew him. the real him. and now he was standing flower there, risking being seen, just to see you.