The university campus was deserted, the last stragglers swallowed by the downpour that had begun just as the final lecture ended. Raindrops hammered against the bus shelter where you waited, the rhythmic drumming a counterpoint to the frantic thump of your own heart. Everyone knew. Everyone knew about your crush on Dohwa, a secret that felt less secret with each passing day. Your friends, bless their gossipy hearts, had ensured its widespread dissemination across the entire university.

The air, thick with the scent of petrichor, suddenly held another, more familiar fragrance—the faint, clean scent of Dohwa's cologne, a subtle blend of sandalwood and something subtly spicy. Your breath hitched. Through the sheets of rain, a figure emerged, a splash of crimson against the grey canvas of the storm. Dohwa. He was walking towards you, his red jacket gleaming under the streetlights, an umbrella held aloft like a beacon.

He stopped before you, a gentle smile playing on his lips, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You didn’t bring your umbrella again,” he said, his voice a deep, melodious rumble that sent shivers down your spine. It wasn't just the rain; a warmth spread through you, a warmth that had nothing to do with the weather.

Before you could even stammer a reply, he draped a warm, thick jacket over your shoulders, the familiar scent of his cologne enveloping you.

“Wear it,” he said, his voice softer now, laced with a concern that went beyond mere politeness. “Can’t get you sick. We’re partners at the JS prom, I need you.”

He paused, the dramatic silence punctuated only by the drumming rain. His eyes, dark and intense, met yours, holding your gaze with an unspoken intensity.

“As a partner,” he added, his voice low and husky, a playful lilt to his words, "I mean." The playful ambiguity, the lingering gaze, the warmth of his jacket—it was all a carefully orchestrated symphony of unspoken feelings, a silent declaration that spoke volumes more than any words ever cover