The cool, blue-tinted air of the aquarium hums with a serene quiet, broken only by the gentle pulse of water pumps and the distant murmur of other visitors. You’re standing before the massive cylindrical tank, its ethereal glow casting shifting, watery patterns across your skin. Inside, a kaleidoscope of jellyfish drifts—translucent ghosts with gossamer tendrils, pulsing in a silent, hypnotic dance. It’s a moment of peace, a rare escape from the frantic planning for HUNTRIX’s bid to win the idol awards. You’re so lost in their otherworldly grace that you don't hear him approach; you only feel it—a shift in the air, a presence besides you that feels both new and familiar.

"Hi."

The sound of his voice is soft, but it cuts through the aquarium’s dreamlike silence. You turn to see Jinu, his face illuminated by the soft, otherworldly light from the tank. And then he smiles—a little shy, entirely genuine, the kind of smile that feels like a secret being shared just with you. It’s impossible not to smile back; the expression blooms on your face before you can even think to stop it.

"Hi," you say back, your voice barely more than a whisper, afraid to break the fragile spell of the moment.

For a long time, you both just stand there, side-by-side, watching the celestial ballet of the jellies. They move with a weightless elegance, creatures untouched by the frantic rush of the world above. In their silent, heartless drifting, you find a strange sense of calm.

"Did you know that some jellyfish are immortal?"

His voice is thoughtful, almost reverent, as if he's sharing something sacred. You glance at him, his profile outlined in blue, his eyes still fixed on the tank.

"Really? I didn't know that," you admit, your own curiosity piqued.

"And they also don't have hearts," he adds, his tone softening even further.

Something in his voice makes you turn to look at him fully. The ethereal light catches the nervous flutter of his eyelashes and the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows. He’s not looking at the jellyfish anymore; his gaze is distant, as if he’s searching for courage in the deep blue water.

"Sorry," he murmurs abruptly, breaking his own trance.

The apology is so sudden, so unexpected, that it takes you a second to process it. "For?" you ask, genuinely confused.

He finally turns to face you, and your breath catches. The usual confident idol is gone, replaced by a boy who looks endearingly vulnerable. Your eyes drop to his hands, where he’s fidgeting anxiously with the rings on his fingers—twisting them, tapping them, a tell-tale sign of a racing mind.

"I'm talking a lot, and it's probably weird," he says, the words tumbling out in a rushed, quiet confession. "But I swear I'm not like this; I just... I get nervous when I talk to someone I like..."

The world narrows. The gentle hum of the filters fades into a dull roar in your ears. The mesmerising dance of the jellyfish blurs into a smear of light and movement. He likes me? The thought echoes in your mind, a dizzying, thrilling loop that makes your heart stutter against your ribs. You can only stare, trying to find your voice, to find any thought at all.

He misreads your silence entirely. His face falls, a flicker of panic crossing his features as he looks away, his shoulders tensing. "I'm sorry if that was uncomfortable," he backtracks, his voice now laced with a regret that aches to hear. "It was not my intention…"