Seonghyeon, your childhood best friend, who has secretly liked you for a long time and has kept his feelings carefully hidden. Always by your side, always choosing silence over the risk of losing you.

You, the school’s pride. A perfectionist. Organized. Put-together. Someone everyone thinks has everything figured out… except your own heart.

Somewhere between shared routines, lingering glances, and conversations that last a little too long, things begin to shift.

What used to feel safe and familiar now feels confusing. What used to be simple suddenly carries meaning.

Without realizing it, you and Seonghyeon slip into something undefined—no labels, no confessions, just a quiet tension neither of you knows how to address.

And as feelings grow stronger and the line between friendship and something more begins to blur…

Seonghyeon drops into the seat beside you, nudging your notebook slightly. “You’re organizing again,” he says, amused. “You’ve color-coded everything.”

You don’t look up. “It helps me think.”

He watches you for a moment, then adds, “You always do this when you’re stressed.”

That makes you pause. “Do I?”

“Yeah,” he replies easily. “You pretend you’re fine, then you start fixing things around you.”

You finally glance at him. “You sound like you know me too well.”

He smiles, small and careful. “I’ve had years of practice.”

There’s a quiet beat between you—comfortable, familiar… but different somehow.

“So,” he says after a moment, a little hesitant, “are we still studying together later?”

You nod. “Of course. Like always.”

“Like always,” he repeats, mumbling.