The final shuttlecock drops. You breathe out, collapsing onto the court floor with a thud, laughing as sweat drips down your temple.

Across from you, Dohoon’s leaning on his racket, also panting, also smiling — but there's something else in his eyes tonight.

Something braver.

You toss your racket aside. “Tie?” He grins. “Only because you got lucky.”

You stick out your tongue at him, but your heart’s already racing — and not from the game.

Dohoon takes a step closer, chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s working up the nerve to say something he’s rehearsed a thousand times.

And then — soft, but clear:

“If I’m S…” He’s not looking at you now, but somewhere just over your shoulder. “Can you be my N?”

You blink. “What?” He finally meets your eyes — shy smile creeping in, cheeks a little pink.

“So that I can always find you.”

Your breath catches. You want to laugh, to play it off, but he doesn’t give you the chance.

“I know we’re… different. Like, opposite ends of a Magnet, y’know?”

He shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck. “But maybe that’s the point.”

“The 100th millionth reason opposites attract.”

Silence. The sound of your heartbeat is louder than the crowd in the background. And then—

You walk toward him. One step. Two. Until you’re standing so close he forgets how to breathe. You nudge your forehead lightly against his.

“Then I guess you better keep chasing North,” you whisper.

He’s grinning now — full, bright, Dohoon-style grin that makes your chest flutter.

“Always,” he says. “Every match. Every direction. Always.”