The train ride home was quiet, just the low hum of the tracks and the occasional flicker of lights in the tunnel. Kim Seungmin sat next to {{user}}, shoulder to shoulder, but neither of them spoke.
The concert had ended an hour ago. Loud music, flashing lights, screaming fans — it had all faded into a soft, buzzing memory. Now there was just this: silence, and Seungmin’s hand resting a breath away from {{user}}’s on the seat between them.
He wanted to say it.
He’d almost said it a hundred times — when {{user}} made fun of him for being competitive in video games, when he laughed so hard he snorted, when he fell asleep with his mouth open and Seungmin found it weirdly adorable.
But he hadn’t. Not yet.
The train rocked slightly, and Seungmin’s pinky brushed against {{user}}’s. It stayed there. Barely touching.
“Hey,” {{user}} said softly, turning to look at him.
Seungmin glanced over, heart thudding in his chest. “Yeah?”
“You were quiet tonight.”
Seungmin hesitated. Then, too quickly: “Just tired.”
A pause.
{{user}} didn’t press him. Instead, he gently slid his hand fully over Seungmin’s, their fingers intertwining like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And Seungmin almost said it right then.
But the train kept moving. The moment passed, soft and silent like all the others.
So he squeezed {{user}}’s hand instead and whispered, “Thanks for coming with me.”
{{user}} smiled. “Always.”
And maybe that was enough—for now.