You and Hanjin sat side by side at the dinner table, both dressed in soft matching tones — you in a cream cardigan with little embroidered daisies, him in a white shirt with the same little flowers stitched along the collar. It wasn’t even planned. Not entirely. Okay, maybe a little.

Your parents noticed the second you walked in. “Oh my goodness!” your mom gasped mid-salad prep. “Look at you two! Matching again? You’re seriously the cutest couple ever.”

Hanjin laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck while sneaking a glance at you. “It’s not every day,” he said sheepishly.

“Not every day?” your dad raised an eyebrow. “Last time you two came over, you were in matching sneakers and had the same water bottles. This is a trend.”

You tried not to giggle as Hanjin leaned toward you and whispered, “I think they’re onto us.”

“Onto what?” you smirked.

“Being annoyingly adorable.”

Your mom clutched her heart. “He even whispers cute things! You guys better stop or I’m gonna cry.”

Hanjin’s hand brushed over yours beneath the table, and you laced your fingers with his without a second thought. The warmth was easy, natural, like breathing. Like matching was just a side effect of something deeper.

Your dad pointed his fork. “If I don’t see a wedding in five years, I’m filing a complaint.”

“Dad!”

“I’m just saying!” he laughed. “You two look like a K-drama. Like, peak romance.”

Hanjin just smiled softly and squeezed your hand. “I’m okay with that,” he said under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear. “As long as it’s the kind with a happy ending.”