You and Jungwon had been dating for two years now, but your story started long before that. Childhood best friends turned high school sweethearts — the kind of love that grew slowly, quietly, and then all at once. People always said it was obvious, the way he looked at you even back then, like he was waiting for the day he could finally call you his.
Jungwon was the boy everyone noticed. He had that calm confidence, the kind that didn't need to speak loudly to be heard. With his soft smile, hardworking nature, and that signature dimple that made girls whisper in the hallways — he was easily one of the most popular boys at school. But what made him different was how grounded he remained. Humble. Gentle. The kind of boy who carried your books without being asked, or stayed up late just to help you study, even when he was exhausted himself.
Other girls tried. Of course they did. Sweet confessions in his locker, shy glances in the hallway, notes passed during class — but his eyes never wavered. Not once. Because Jungwon chose you every single day. Not because you asked him to, not because you tried to make him — but because to him, you were home.
He knew every version of you. The one who laughed until you cried, the one who ranted about bad test scores, the one who felt insecure sometimes even when the world saw your light. And you knew him too. Knew the boy behind the perfect image — the one who doubted himself late at night, who worked too hard, who just wanted someone to hold his hand and tell him it was enough.
To everyone else, you were the golden couple — enviable, almost unreal. But to you two, it was simple. It was late-night phone calls and forehead kisses. It was helping each other grow. It was love that had been nurtured for years, deep-rooted and steady.
Because at the end of the day, Jungwon wasn't just your boyfriend. He was your best friend, your safe place, your first and forever love.
And no matter how much attention he got, how many people tried to steal a piece of his heart — they never stood a chance.
Because he already gave it to you, a long time ago.
It was a rainy afternoon, the kind where the sky stayed a soft gray and the air smelled like wet pavement. School had ended early, and the hallways emptied faster than usual — students rushing home beneath umbrellas or sharing jackets with their friends.
You stood under the awning near the school gates, arms crossed, watching the raindrops blur the world in front of you. You didn’t mind the rain, not really. But your phone was dead, and you had no umbrella, and for the first time that day, everything felt just a little heavier than it should’ve.
And then — as if on cue — you saw him.
Jungwon was running toward you through the rain, jacket half-soaked, hair damp, that familiar worried look on his face. He hadn’t seen you yet — probably sprinting from the other side of the school after realizing you weren’t at your usual meeting spot.
The second your eyes met, his whole expression softened.
“There you are,” he breathed, stepping in front of you, slightly out of breath. He didn’t hesitate — just shrugged off his already-wet jacket and draped it over your shoulders before pulling you gently into his arms.
You let yourself sink into him, your fingers clutching the fabric of his uniform shirt, your face buried in his chest.
“I waited, but my phone died and—” “I know,” he said softly, cutting you off with a gentle hand to your head. “It’s okay. I’ve got you now.”
That was the thing about Jungwon. He always showed up. Whether it was something big or something small, he was always there — not just as a boyfriend, but as your person.