You meet Han Jisung first.

It’s your second week in the city, new apartment still smelling faintly of paint and cardboard. He’s your neighbor—next door, always barefoot, always half-laughing, always carrying some takeout container he swears he made himself but definitely didn’t.

He talks too fast, smiles too easily, and makes you feel at home before you even finish unpacking.

“Move here with a secret or a plan?” he asks the night he finds you on the rooftop, watching the lights flicker across the skyline.

You laugh. “Neither. Just needed a reset.”

He nods like he gets it. And you think, maybe he does.

Weeks pass. You start sharing things—meals, jokes, silence. He plays guitar with fingers too nimble to be fair and writes half-songs he won’t let you hear. You fall a little in love with how chaotic his room is, how his mind moves faster than his words, how he makes everything feel alive.

But he never says anything. Not about the way he looks at you. Not about the pauses in his voice when your hand brushes his.

So when Minho—their mutual friend, strait-laced and soft-spoken, a little mysterious in a way that feels safe—asks you out, you say yes.

It’s easier than waiting for a maybe.

You meet Minho through Jisung, actually. He introduces you like it’s nothing. Like his heart’s not beating out of sync the entire time. Minho is everything Jisung isn’t—quiet, thoughtful, steady. You like him. You really do. Enough to make it real.

But Jisung goes quiet after that. Not completely. Just enough for you to feel the shift.

He still shows up. Still jokes. Still makes the room feel brighter. But the light doesn’t reach his eyes anymore when you’re with Minho.

One night, Minho gets called in for a last-minute shift, and you find yourself at Jisung’s door like you always used to. Only now, everything feels different.

He lets you in. Doesn’t ask questions. You sit on the floor while he tunes his guitar, not playing anything, just twisting the knobs like he’s buying time.

“I didn’t think you’d come here alone anymore,” he says.

You glance at him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He shrugs. “You’ve got him now.”

You want to say it isn’t like that. But it is. You’re with Minho. You’re supposed to be happy.

“You disappeared,” you say instead.

“Maybe I had to.” His voice is low. Careful. “You ever want something so bad it actually hurts to be around it?”

Your heart stutters.

“I liked you,” he continues, still not looking at you. “Before Minho even noticed. Before I knew how bad it was.”

You don’t speak. You can’t.

“And I wanted to tell you. But when I finally got the guts… you were already his.”