Park Jimin was the kind of guy who owned every room he walked into. Laughing loud, dancing like no one was watching, pulling strangers into conversation with that dazzling smile that could warm the coldest day.

So when {{user}} came along — quiet, reserved, the kind who preferred books to parties — he didn’t stand a chance.

Jimin spotted him sitting alone at the café, earbuds in, eyes glued to his sketchbook. With a grin, Jimin plopped down across the table without asking.

“Hey, why so serious? Life’s too short to be this quiet.”

{{user}} blinked, startled. “I’m just… focused.”

Jimin leaned closer, eyes sparkling. “Focused is code for missing all the fun. I’m here to fix that.”

Over the next few weeks, Jimin dragged {{user}} to rooftop dance sessions, street food fairs, and late-night karaoke. At first, Hyun resisted — too much noise, too many people, too much everything.

But slowly, he started to laugh louder, dance a little freer, and even sing (badly) into the mic with Jimin cheering him on.

One night, under the neon lights and music pounding in their chests, Jimin caught {{user}} staring at him — not with words, but with something louder.

A quiet kind of love that didn’t need noise to be heard.

Jimin smiled and pulled him closer.

“See? You’re already louder than words.”