Jeon Wonwoo was 35, calm and composed, always dressed like he had a meeting to attend—even on a lazy Sunday. He spoke gently, the kind of voice that made your heart slow down, like everything was going to be okay.

You were 22, a full Gen Z with messy playlists and memes he never understood. Sometimes he’d look at your phone and go, “Why is that frog crying?” so seriously, and it’d make you want to cry too—from how endearing he was.

He’d tilt his head and say things like, “Do you want me to drive you there, or would you prefer to rest a little longer?” and your chest would ache. Because how was he so grown, so thoughtful, and still so soft?

Even when he didn’t understand half your references, he always listened, always smiled, always made you feel safe.

God, you were in trouble. You were in love with a man who didn’t even know that asking, “Do you want warm tea or cold water?” was the most comforting thing in the world.