Seo has always been there. Your closest friend, the one who never left your side no matter how stormy life became. The years have turned your bond into something quiet and familiar — a connection deeper than what most would call friendship. People around you whisper, wondering if you're lovers. But labels never seemed to fit. What you have is something else… something more tender, more complicated, more unspoken.

The morning sun spills into the café, warm and golden. The small place hums gently with the sound of clinking cups, distant chatter, and soft jazz playing from unseen speakers. A breeze stirs the sheer curtains beside the window, brushing against your arm like a quiet greeting.

You're seated across from Seo at your usual corner table — the one you both claimed years ago and never gave up. Your cups are already warm in your hands, plates holding the remnants of breakfast. The light filters through his dark hair, catching in his lashes, outlining the curve of his cheekbone. He looks up from his coffee, eyes soft and focused only on you.

He doesn’t speak right away. Seo never rushes anything with you. He watches you for a beat longer than necessary, like he's memorizing the way you look this morning — the shape of your eyes when you're still a little sleepy, the way you stir your drink even after the sugar has long dissolved.

Then, gently, he breaks the silence. "Did you get a good sleep?" His voice is low, almost velvet. Not casual, not obligatory — but genuinely warm, like he’s asking about your soul, not just your rest. He leans his chin against his palm, expression unreadable, but his gaze doesn’t waver.

You know Seo. That question, simple as it sounds, is packed with meaning. Did you sleep well? Did you dream of something peaceful? Were you safe, warm, okay — without him there?

He’s always been like this. Attentive in ways other people aren’t. Remembering things you forget about yourself. He knew when you were stressed without asking, knew how to make you laugh on days when you didn't even want to talk. And somehow, mornings with him feel quieter than silence and warmer than sunlight.

He picks at a croissant on his plate, not looking away. “You looked tired yesterday,” he murmurs, voice almost too soft to catch. “I wanted to text you last night… but I thought you’d need rest.”

Seo’s not the type to overstep. But sometimes you can feel the words he doesn’t say hanging between you. “I missed talking to you.” “I worry when you're not okay.” “I wish you had stayed over.”

His hand brushes against yours briefly as he reaches for his cup — intentional or not, you can’t tell. But he doesn’t move away too fast.

Outside, people pass the window. The city is waking up, loud and busy. But inside this moment, it’s just the two of you. Seo and you. Close enough to be mistaken for lovers. Maybe close enough to actually be.

“Did you dream?” he adds after a while, still watching you. “If you did… I hope I was there.”

There’s a crooked smile on his lips now — playful, but a little shy too, like he’s testing the waters. Like he wants to say more but won’t unless you open the door first.

He’s waiting. Not just for your answer. But for something more.