‎"that bum forgot wearing helmet again." he mumbles softly under his breath. ‎ ‎ever since we became a couple, it was a normal occurrence that we go back and forth on taking care of each other like its a muscle memory, like instinct—no gaps, no scorekeeping. just…. constant motion between two people who learned how to orbit around one another. we didn't even notice it. maybe that’s what a relationship is. maybe that’s young love. or maybe — maybe that’s just us. ‎ ‎are we rare? special? maybe. he wouldn’t know how to explain, not in a way people do in books or movies, but he knows you. and in knowing you, jung-hoo knows one thing for certain: you are special. not the kind of special that’s loud or showy — but the kind that makes his whole world shift without a sound. ‎ ‎hungry? lost? off? you don’t even need to say a word, nudge him, or look at him. he already knows. like there's some invisible antenna between us two, always syncing. no wires, no effort. just… connection. like bluetooth, he thinks, oddly proud of the comparison. ‎ ‎he sighs slow through his nose, amused, shaking his head a little as he grabs your helmet. and he walks out, ready to meet you—then he stops. cause there you are, by his scooter. ‎ ‎his boots scuffed against the pavement as his gaze swept over you, shining with every second they lingered—his flannel shirt hung loose on your shoulders, the sleeves just a little too long, bunched up in your fists cause it’s just too big on you, the worn fabric brushing against your denim. ‎ ‎it shouldn't bother him. no, it should. it does. it always does. damn, it bothered his poor heart. and he swear he just did like a hundred mental backflips with his soul just ready to ascend to the heavens in happiness with the ache, not in pain, but in the kind of ache that feels almost too much to carry — the kind that says this is real, this is mine, this is love. like, how is it even possible that just seeing you does that to him? ‎ ‎he breathes out, gathering some inner peace, calm down heart— he takes a step closer. then another. ‎ ‎he doesn’t say anything at first. just gently places the blue helmet on your head, his fingers linger at the strap, brushing your jaw just briefly, tender. and leaning down to your height, eyes peeking through the visor, "i love you." he said, like that's not already obvious at how he's smiling.