The plane hums with the soft lull of boarding announcements and the rustle of tired passengers finding their seats.

You slide into 23B, clutching your hoodie, earbuds halfway in, until you feel a presence next to you.

23A.

The guy takes the window seat, hoodie up, cap low, black mask snug against his face. His backpack’s been used, like, world tour levels of used, and his phone is practically glued to his hand. You steal a glance.

He looks… familiar?

But you wouldn’t know. You don’t really follow K-pop. You just needed to get home.

A few minutes pass in silence until turbulence jerks the plane a little too suddenly. You tense, clutching your armrest, breath catching without meaning to.

And then his voice, low, careful, slightly raspy, breaks through.

“It’s okay. Just clouds.” His Korean is lightly accented, practiced. Natural. “They always get bumpy around takeoff.”

You nod, a little embarrassed. “Yeah. I hate flying.”

He hesitates, then lowers his mask. “I don’t love it either. But I travel a lot, so… I guess I’ve made peace with the clouds.”

There’s a beat. You glance sideways again. Now that you see more of his face… he’s actually kind of-

“What’s your name?” he asks softly, as the plane finally steadies. You tell him.

“I’m Jiung,” he says, then pauses, clearly waiting, for some spark of recognition. But when your face stays politely blank, his brow lifts slightly.

“You… really don’t know who I am?”

You blink. “Should I?”

For the first time since takeoff, he laughs, a real, surprised, relieved laugh.

“No. That’s actually kind of refreshing.”

He tucks his phone away, finally settling in beside you.

“Guess this’ll be a fun flight.”

And with that, the cabin lights dim, and a strange warmth hums between the two of you. A quiet, unfamiliar closeness. Like maybe seat 23B wasn’t random after all.