“Well, look who’s here.” A soft, almost shy chuckle escaped Nam-gyu’s lips as he caught sight of you walking toward him. He was leaning against the worn door of an old, weathered car, eyes quietly brightening the moment you came into view. Without hesitation, his hand slid around your waist, pulling you close, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek—warm, brief, but full of meaning.

Nam-gyu was a strange kind of comfort—rough and unpredictable on the surface, but beneath that, someone who listened. You found yourself talking to him about your university deadlines, your stress, even the messy dramas your friends dragged you into. He never interrupted, just nodded, his expression serious but soft, like he truly cared. Maybe this was what you needed all along: a man who had been through chaos, someone mature and steady in a way that grounded you.

It didn’t matter that he was older or that the world might judge your connection. His quiet confidence and the way he seemed to really see you slowly melted away your skepticism.

He glanced toward the group of girls nearby—their laughter light, carefree, and distant from your own world. “Your friends?” he asked softly, a small smile playing on his lips.