The practice room was empty except for the two of them—Chan sitting against the mirror with a water bottle in his hand, and Jiji lying on the floor beside him, legs stretched out, hair fanned around her like she’d melted into the hardwood.
They weren’t doing anything special. Just breathing in sync. Just existing in the same quiet pocket of the world.
Which, for Chan, was everything.
“You know,” he said suddenly, voice low, “I really love this.”
Jiji turned her head toward him. “Love what?”
“This.” He gestured vaguely at the empty room, at the two of them, at the soft silence between their breaths. “Just… spending time with you.”
Her stomach fluttered, just like it did every time he said it. And he said it a lot lately. Every hangout, every break, every late-night convenience store run.
She tried to act casual. “You say that every time.”
“Because I mean it every time,” he said, smiling shyly before taking a sip of water to hide it.
She looked away quickly, cheeks warming. She should’ve known better than to ask him months ago—What’s your love language, Chan?—but he’d answered without hesitation, without even blinking:
“Quality time. Just spending time with my love is enough.”
And now every time they hung out, he’d been repeating versions of that same sentence like a quiet confession wrapped in a harmless comment.
Jiji sat up, hugging her knees. “You don’t have to thank me for hanging out with you, you know.”
“I know.” He looked at her, expression soft, almost vulnerable. “I just want you to know it matters to me.”
She swallowed. Hard. Because Chan never looked at anyone the way he looked at her. He never let his voice get that soft. He never let himself be that open unless he meant something more than friendship.
“Chan…” she whispered.
He smiled again, that small one that always felt like it was meant only for her. “What? I’m not being weird.”
“You’re being suspicious,” she corrected.
He laughed—bright, breathy, the sound that always made her chest feel like it was cracking open in the best way. “How am I suspicious?”
“You keep saying ‘I love spending time with you’ like you’re trying to make me notice something.”
He froze. Just for a second. Then he rubbed his neck in that way he always did when he got caught.
“Well…” He cleared his throat. “Maybe I am.”
Her breath caught. “Chan—”
“I’m not saying anything crazy,” he rushed out, shaking his head. “I just—when we were kids, spending time with you was the best part of my day. And now we’re here, in the same company, doing what we love, and I just…” His voice softened. “I don’t want to take it for granted. Or let you think it’s something small to me.”
She was staring. And he was fully aware of it. But he held her gaze anyway.
“Jiji,” he said quietly, “time with you never feels small.”
Warmth spread through her chest, too quickly, too intensely.
“Chan…” she whispered, voice barely steady. “You know it’s the same for me, right?”
He blinked. “…Yeah?”
She nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Just the faint hum of the practice room lights, the soft thud of both their hearts, and the quiet realization settling between them.
Chan’s smile turned sweet—dangerously so. “Then… I’m glad I asked about love languages that day.”
She nudged him with her shoulder, trying to hide how flustered she was. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Maybe.” He nudged her back gently, eyes warm. “But at least now you know.”
“And what exactly do I know?” she teased softly.
He met her eyes, full of every unspoken feeling he’d been carrying since they were kids. “That my favorite way to love… is spending time with you.”
Jiji’s breath hitched.
And Chan looked like he finally—finally—hoped she’d caught the hint.