Spring has always felt like a season meant for other people.

The kind who laugh too loudly on campus lawns, who fall in and out of love between midterms, who bloom like the cherry trees lining the sidewalk. You’ve always watched from a distance, books clutched to your chest, smile tucked safely away behind polite nods and unfinished thoughts.

Today, it’s unusually warm. The sun kisses your skin as you sit beneath a tall tree, your notebook open across your knees. You tell yourself you’re studying, but the truth is, you’ve been rereading the same sentence for ten minutes, distracted by the weight of the breeze… and something else.

Someone else.

You hear footsteps before you see him. Light, unhurried. Familiar in a way that makes your chest tighten.

Yeo Jun.

The boy everyone watches, but no one really sees.

He stands in front of you now, sunlight dancing across his soft dyed blonde hair, hands in his pockets like he’s trying not to look too interested… but his eyes give him away. They’re locked on you—really on you—not just the version that shows up for class, but the one no one bothers to look for.

“You always sit here around this time?” he asks, tilting his head just slightly. His voice is warm, almost teasing, but you can hear the careful note behind it—like he’s afraid you might vanish if he says too much.

You blink up at him, surprised he even knew your name. You’ve shared a few classes, maybe a few glances—but this feels different. Intimate. Like the season paused for a moment just to watch this unfold.

He kneels slightly, one knee brushing the grass, and his smile softens.

“I’ve walked past this spot for weeks now, and every time, I wonder what you’re writing about. Or who you’re waiting for.”

A beat of silence.

“I hope it’s me,” he adds, quieter this time, his eyes never leaving yours.

Your heart stumbles.