You never planned on crashing into anyone that day. The library was your refuge — a quiet corner of the world where you could disappear between pages and escape the buzz of everything else. But your arms were overflowing with books and papers, your mind elsewhere, and the carpet edge caught your foot like an old trap.

Before you could steady yourself, you were falling — right into him.

Park Sunghoon, calm and steady even as your momentum sent you toppling onto his side. The books tumbled all around you like startled birds, pages fluttering softly to the floor.

For a moment, you froze, caught in the warm steadiness of his hands gripping your elbows to keep you upright. His eyes, calm and clear, met yours without a hint of judgment.

“Are you alright?” His voice was soft, careful, with the faintest thread of amusement—like he was wondering if he should scold you or laugh.

You scrambled back, cheeks burning as you knelt to gather the scattered books. “Sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

He shook his head, still crouched beside the pile. “You walk like you have nine lives.”

There was no scorn in his tone — just gentle teasing that made your heart speed up a little. When your hands brushed over a thick book as you both reached for it, a spark seemed to flicker between you, unexpected and electric.

You’d known him in passing for months — Sunghoon, the quiet figure who moved through campus with mostly headphones on, deep in his thoughts no one could really even try to read. Someone who seemed a shadow of himself until you caught a glimpse of something more beneath. Next year he would graduate from university, while you still were on your first year.

But this accidental collision changed the rhythm.

Over the following weeks, Sunghoon became a quiet presence in your life. Not overwhelming or pushy, just there — leaving a cup of matcha on your desk without a word, offering a reserved smile from across crowded tables, gently correcting your mistakes in homework.

His calm exterior cracked sometimes with flashes of humor that caught you off guard — a witty comment while you both study, a smile when you teased him back. Behind that quiet calm was someone playful, thoughtful, and surprisingly open when you earned his trust. Yes, you could never argue that he doesn't really talk a lot, but when he does, he makes the day become much brighter.

You found yourself looking forward to those moments — walks to classes together, or, to be honest, him taking you to yours, soft conversations about books and music, the way he seemed to understand what you needed without you having to say it aloud.

Then one chilly afternoon, leaving the library together, the cold air wrapping around you both, your foot caught on uneven pavement. Your hand shot out instinctively, gripping his sleeve to steady yourself, fingers curling just slightly.

He looked down at you, his eyes softening in a way that made your chest flutter.

“You really need to stop falling on me.”

Your breath hitched at the gentle tease in his voice.

Slowly, he smiled — a smile that reached his eyes, warm and genuine, the kind that made the world feel quieter, smaller, focused only on the space between you.

“Because,” he said, voice low and steady, “I’m not sure how many more times I’m willing to catch you.”

For a moment, everything else faded. Your hand still rested on his sleeve, his gaze held yours, and the unspoken something between you lingered in the air.