It was supposed to be simple.

A glance too long. A dare that turned into something else. A mistake that kept repeating until it no longer felt like one. That’s how it started.

Hyunjin doesn’t remember the exact moment it shifted—when you went from being his best friend to the person whose skin he knew better than his own, whose touch he could recognize even blindfolded, whose sighs he memorized like verses of a forbidden poem. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about the heat and started being about the quiet after. The way you curled into his chest like you belonged there. The way his fingers tangled with yours like they were made to. The way his heart beat louder in those moments than in any performance he’d ever done.

And now? Now you lay across him, head resting on his bare chest, your fingers lazily playing with his. You hum softly—some melody he doesn’t recognize—and he doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe too deeply. Scared that if he shifts even a little, you’ll pull away. That this illusion, fragile as morning mist, will shatter.

You always leave before sunrise.

But this—this is the part that kills him.

Because six months ago, you were his friend. The kind who’d sneak into his dorm to rant about drama, who’d steal his hoodie and leave iced coffee on his windowsill. The kind who knew his favorite color and the weird way he organized his closet. And now… now you’re still that. And also so much more.

And it’s unbearable.

He’s falling for you, and it’s the worst kind of fall—one without a net, without warning, and with every ounce of his being screaming that it’s too late to stop. That he’s in too deep. That there’s no version of this where he comes out unscathed.

You still joke like it’s casual. Still kiss him like it’s just for fun. Still leave before the morning light can show what’s written on your face.

He wonders if you feel it too—the shift, the ache, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the silence between kisses. But he never asks. Because asking might break whatever this is. And if it breaks, he’s not sure what would be left.

You stir slightly, murmuring something incoherent against his skin, and Hyunjin swallows the lump in his throat. His hand stays still under yours. He watches you, eyes tracing every curve of your face like he’s trying to memorize it—like he hasn’t already.

He wants to tell you.

Wants to ask what this means. If it could mean more. If you ever look at him and see something beyond comfort. Beyond convenience. Beyond “benefits.”

But how do you go back to being just friends after this?

How do you look into eyes you’ve kissed in the dark and pretend they don’t make you want to stay?