You and Heeseung are both in high school, and you’ve been dating for a while. It’s not something you announce, but it’s not a secret either. Your friends know. His friends know. If someone’s paying attention, they can tell.

You’re both on the school basketball teams, just on different ones. Practices overlap a lot, so you end up sharing the gym. Sometimes you catch each other’s eye across the court. Sometimes you don’t. When you do, it’s just a quick look or a nod—nothing obvious.

At school, things are easy. You sit together at lunch when you feel like it, sometimes with friends, sometimes just the two of you. In the halls, you don’t cling to each other. You dap each other up, bump shoulders, or exchange a quiet “what’s up” as you pass. It looks casual, but it means more than it seems.

Heeseung jokes about your jumper. You tell him his defense needs work. It’s always like that—teasing, competitive, comfortable. Everyone knows you’re together, but you never feel the need to prove it.

After practice, he might walk with you for a bit, or you’ll just meet up outside and head your separate ways. Sometimes he pulls you in for a quick side hug. Sometimes it’s just a fist bump and a smile. Either way, it’s understood.

You don’t have to say much. You’re dating, you care about each other deeply, and you move like a team—even when you’re on different sides of the court.