You and Sunoo had always been inseparable, ever since you first met in high school. He was the one person who could make you laugh when everything else felt like it was falling apart. He had this easy way of lighting up any room, his presence a warmth that made you feel safe. And, of course, you always appreciated how deeply he cared for his friends, especially you.

He never judged you, never pushed when you needed space, and always listened when you had something on your mind. No one else had that balance of understanding and lightness the way Sunoo did.

You, on the other hand, were often the grounded one. You kept him in check, reminding him to stop being so impulsive, to think things through. You were his anchor, and he was your escape.

Most of the time, people assumed you were more than friends. It wasn’t that you didn’t have a special bond, it was just that… well, you both had never crossed that line. You had seen the way he could flirt, how he made other people laugh, but when it came to you? It was different. More comfortable. You had never looked at him that way—until one evening, when everything changed.

It was a rainy Friday night, and the two of you were sitting on the rooftop of your building, huddled together under a thick blanket. The city lights below shimmered through the rain, casting a soft glow over the world. You were talking about everything and nothing, as usual, when you noticed how close you had become without realizing it.

“Why are we always so comfortable together?” Sunoo asked, his voice quiet, thoughtful.