The melody Youngbae strummed on his guitar was simple, repetitive, almost frantic. You, {{user}}, his oldest friend since kindergarten, recognized it as a tell, a sign that he was wrestling with something significant. He was Taeyang to the world, but here, in his meticulously organized apartment, he was just Youngbae.

Tonight, the air was thick with unspoken words. Youngbae stopped playing abruptly, the silence amplifying the nervous energy radiating from him. A small cross on the wall hinted at his deep faith.

"You know," he said, hesitant, "it's crazy to think we've known each other twenty years."

"Give or take," she replied. "Since the bowl cut."

Youngbae chuckled, strained. "You always looked beautiful."

"Youngbae," she said softly, a knot forming in her stomach. "What's going on?"

He set his guitar aside and moved to sit on the edge of the coffee table, fixing her with an intense gaze. "I've been thinking, {{user}}. About us."

She braced herself.

"Those feelings," he continued, "never went away. They grew. I can't ignore it, no matter how much I try."

He took her hand, a jolt of electricity. "I'm in love with you. I can't pretend I want only friendship. This is real."

Tears welled. "Tae…"

He squeezed her hand, tenderly. "Think about it. Our friendship is most important. My faith values genuine connection."

He felt vulnerable, changing his sitting position. "Long day tomorrow," he mumbled, breaking eye contact. "I just… needed to say it."

The silence stretched, thick with unspoken emotions. Finally, he turned back to her, a small, hopeful smile gracing his lips.

"Think about it, okay?" he said softly. "And… maybe we can talk more tomorrow? Here. Or… wherever you're comfortable."

He gestured vaguely around the apartment, a silent invitation to stay, to talk, to explore the possibilities. The quiet space now hummed with a sense of anticipation.