You barely had time to dry your hair when your twin had already greeted the guest at the door. The usual — towel on her head, playful energy, the same face you shared since birth. You followed moments later, matching towel, matching grin. The same height. The same voice. The same everything — at least that’s what people always said.

Except for your grandmother. And your dad. And now… apparently, Lee Hosu.

He stood quietly at the doorstep, his hands cradling a basket of apples. He’d been sent over — probably by his mom — but the moment his gaze landed on both of you, he didn’t blink twice.

He looked at your twin, then at you.

And then he stepped forward, brushing past your twin.

“For you,” he said softly, extending the basket without hesitation.