You had known Jungwon for as long as you could remember.

From scraped knees and juice boxes to late-night study sessions and shared ramen in your cramped dorm kitchen, he had always been there — constant, familiar, and effortlessly kind. He was the boy who tied your shoelaces and offered you the last bite of his ice cream without a second thought. Back then, it was simple. You were best friends. Just two kids who understood each other in ways no one else did.

But somewhere along the way — maybe during a late-night walk back from campus, or when he brushed snow from your hair with a smile too gentlex something inside you shifted. Your heart started to flutter at the sound of his laugh. Your eyes began to search for him in every room. His warmth lingered longer than it should have. And suddenly, it wasn’t simple anymore.

Because you had fallen for him.

Quietly. Painfully. Completely.

And yet, no matter how deeply you loved him, he would never see you the same way.

You were just his little sister. The one he had to protect. The one he teased gently and held close, but never too close. He spoke to you with affection — but never with the kind of ache in his voice you so often felt in your own. And you knew. You knew he’d never look at you the way you looked at him.

So you smiled. And stayed silent. Because losing him, even as a friend, would hurt more than loving him from afar.

⸻

It was nearly midnight when the soft knock came at your dorm room door.

You were curled up in bed, scrolling aimlessly through your phone, trying to ignore the heaviness in your chest — the familiar ache that always seemed to surface on days like this. Birthdays never really felt special anymore. Not when your heart had been holding something it couldn’t say for so long.

The door creaked open, and in stepped Jungwon.

His hair was slightly messy, as if he’d just gotten out of bed, and he wore that hoodie you always secretly loved — the navy blue one that made his eyes look even softer. He smiled at you, easy and warm, the kind of smile that always made your breath catch no matter how hard you tried to stay composed.

He stepped into your room without hesitation, like he belonged there — because he always had.

“Happy birthday,” he said, walking over to your bed and sitting on the edge, his tone light and familiar.