“You’re gonna fall in love with me,” Jisung said, grinning over the top of his drink.

You snorted. “In your dreams.”

“I mean, yeah,” he said casually, “you are in my dreams. Every night. Thanks for noticing.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are. Still hanging out with me. Suspicious, no?”

You tried to hide your smile, and failed.

This was how it always was with him — playful, fast, flirty. Like a dance you’d both mastered without choreographing a single step. He’d tease. You’d challenge. He’d wink. You’d roll your eyes and secretly store every word in the back of your chest like treasure.

And he knew it. God, he knew it.

Or — he thought he did.

Because somewhere between that smile and the way you kicked your feet up on his couch like you’d always belonged there — somewhere between him calling you “trouble” and you stealing the last fry off his plate just to hear him whine — something shifted.

He didn’t even realize it at first.

Didn’t notice that he was memorizing the exact sound of your laugh. Didn’t realize he was checking the time when you didn’t text back right away. Didn’t see the moment his teasing turned protective. When the casual “you’re mine” started sounding more like a wish than a joke.

Not until you leaned your head on his shoulder that night.

Not until your fingers accidentally brushed his — and you didn’t pull away.

And suddenly…

Silence.

He didn’t have a comeback. Didn’t have a joke. Couldn’t breathe.

Oh no.

Oh no.

He turned his head just slightly, glancing at you.

You were watching the movie, unaware of the storm tearing through his chest. Unaware that Han Jisung — the boy who flirted with his eyes closed — had just felt the floor shift under his feet.

He swallowed hard.

“You okay?” you murmured, glancing up.

He blinked. “Y-yeah.”

You tilted your head. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

He smiled — slow, nervous, stunned.

“No,” he said, voice lower than usual. “I think I just saw everything I want.”