Jisung had a way of making things feel casual, even when they weren’t. The first time he offered you a ride home, he shrugged like it was no big deal, like you were just headed in the same direction anyway. But then it happened again. And again. Before you even noticed, it became routine—his car idling at the curb, him leaning one arm over the steering wheel as he waited, pretending it wasn’t deliberate. Pretending he hadn’t rearranged his whole evening around you.

Tonight, the streetlights flickered above as you slid into the passenger seat. The familiar scent of mint gum and the faint bass of whatever playlist he had on greeted you, soft in the background. His hands gripped the wheel loosely, but his eyes flicked toward you, lingering just long enough before snapping back to the road.

“You looked tired today,” he muttered, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm with the music.

You leaned your head back against the seat, exhaling. “Long day. You didn’t have to wait for me, you know.”

He scoffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile. His knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the wheel for a moment. “Yeah, right. Like I’d actually just drive off and leave you standing there.”

The warmth of his words settled into you, but you couldn’t help teasing back. “It’s kind of a lot of effort, though. Gas, time, detours—”

He cut you off, glancing at you with that sharp mix of annoyance and fondness only he could pull off. “Don’t do that. Don’t make it sound like I mind.”

Silence stretched for a beat, broken only by the low hum of the engine. You caught his reflection in the window—his jaw set, lips pressed together, like he was holding something back. And then, softer this time: “I like driving you home. It…makes me feel better, knowing you’re not out there alone.”

The confession hung between you, heavy but tender. You turned toward him, catching the way his ears flushed under the streetlight glow. He didn’t look at you, eyes locked on the road ahead, but his hand shifted on the console, close enough that if you reached out—just a little—you could take it.