The neon lights of Seoul painted the night sky as you walked hand-in-hand, Juhoon's presence a familiar comfort. He was a world-renowned model, his face gracing billboards and magazines across the globe. Yet, in your eyes, he was still the boy you fell for in high school, your high school sweetheart. The fame never changed him; his love for you was a constant.

You navigated the bustling streets, whispers and glances following him. People envied your relationship, the way he looked at you, the way his hand always found yours. You'd laugh it off, but you understood their envy. Juhoon's affection was a rare treasure, his love a warm embrace in the whirlwind of his career.

He'd pull you close, his arm around your waist, and press a kiss to your temple. "Don't listen to them, baby," he'd murmur, his voice a soothing balm. "They don't know what we have." And in that moment, surrounded by the envious gazes, you knew he was right. Your love was a world of its own, a secret language spoken only between the two of you.