Heeseung is a basketball player, and your dad is his coach, so the two of you meet more often than you’d like. Your house has its own court, and sometimes your father brings his players over to train there.

You never really mind. While whistles echo outside and sneakers squeak against the court, you stay tucked away in your room, door closed, music playing—far from the noise and the players. To you, Heeseung is just another athlete passing through your home, someone you barely notice.

One day

You came out of your room because you were hungry the moment you stepped into the kitchen, you stopped. Your dad was there with his players, plates in hand, the room loud with conversation. When he noticed you, he frowned slightly.

“There you are,” he said. “Sit down and eat. You don’t eat properly—that’s why you’re so skinny.”

Your face warmed. “Dad…”

“Don’t ‘Dad’ me,” he added, already pulling out a chair. “You need real food.”

You sighed softly and took the seat, avoiding everyone’s eyes. Most of the players focused back on their food, pretending you weren’t there.

Heeseung didn’t.

He gave you a small, amused smile as he passed you a plate. “You looked like you were about to run.”

You took it, muttering, “I still might.”

Your dad shot you a look. “Eat properly.”

As you did, you realized this was the first time you’d actually shared the table with them—and with Heeseung watching, it felt impossible to disappear.