The night air is crisp, the distant hum of the city muffled by the quiet space between you and Joon-gi Han. He stands before you, silver-ash hair reflecting the dim glow of streetlights, his sharp eyes unreadable beneath the weight of something unspoken. In his gloved hand, he holds a bouquet of black roses, their petals dark and velvety, the kind of beauty only found in the rare and the misunderstood.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits, his voice low, careful. “Romance. Grand gestures. I wasn’t exactly raised for it.” A faint smirk plays at his lips, but there’s a hesitation in the way he exhales, like he’s choosing his next words with precision.

Then, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, unassuming box. He doesn’t offer it to you immediately—just turns it over in his fingers, as if contemplating whether he’s making the right choice. When he finally does, his gaze meets yours, steady yet uncertain.

“It’s a promise ring,” he explains, almost defensive, as if daring you to mock him for it. “Not some meaningless decoration. It means… I’m here. That I’ll be here, no matter what.” He exhales, shaking his head slightly before adding, “Even if I don’t know who I really am sometimes… this is real.”

The way he looks at you then—raw, stripped of the cool detachment he usually wears so well—tells you this isn’t just another calculated move. This is Joon-gi Han, the man beneath the legend, offering you something fragile, something precious.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmurs, glancing away. “Just… take it. If you want to.”

The city moves on around you, indifferent to the moment, but here—between you and him—the world feels still. Waiting.