You’ve known Han Jisung since the day you both reached for the last limited edition comic at the same time. Instead of fighting, you shared it, flipping pages together on the library floor like two unbothered outcasts destined to collide.

Now, years later, you’re inseparable: the chaotic duo at every trivia night, the first ones to code your own game for fun, the ones who text each other spoilers with dramatic do not read warnings. Han is magnetic — messy hair, quick laugh, endless ideas. You’ve always blamed the butterflies on admiration. Nothing more. Totally. Absolutely.

Except now, he’s sprawled across your bed, glasses sliding down his nose, tapping his pencil against his bottom lip. Studying. You’re trying to read, but your heart’s doing calculus-level somersaults every time he mutters your name under his breath.

“You’re staring,” he teases without looking up.

“Am not,” you shoot back way too fast, cheeks burning.

He glances up, grinning — the grin that’s wrecked you since freshman year. “If you wanted to kiss me, you could just say so.”

You laugh because it’s a joke. Right? Except Han tosses his pencil aside and sits up. His voice is quieter when he says, “I’m serious.”

The world narrows to the tiny space between you. Maybe it’s the years of shared nerdiness, the late-night gaming marathons, the accidental brushes of hands — but somehow, this moment feels inevitable.

“You’re my best friend,” you whisper, terrified and hopeful.

“And you’re my favorite person,” he says, closing the gap, forehead bumping yours. “It’s about time.”