The night air was cool, soft against your skin as the two of you walked side by side down the quiet street. Streetlights cast long, pale streaks across the pavement, and the world felt slower — calmer — like even the city itself had decided to pause for a bit. Hyeondo’s hands were tucked deep into the pockets of his coat, the faint sound of his shoes brushing against the sidewalk filling the comfortable silence between you.

It wasn’t the first time he’d walked you home — not by a long shot. It was almost routine now, part of this little “fake dating” act the two of you had been keeping up for months. He’d joke that it made the whole thing look more believable if someone happened to see you together. But tonight felt… different. He wasn’t joking. He wasn’t trying to keep up appearances. He was just there, walking next to you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Feels weird,” he murmured, breaking the silence after a while. His voice was softer than usual, low and thoughtful. “I used to hate walking home this late. Always felt like the night dragged on forever.”

He tilted his head a bit, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “But with you, it doesn’t feel long at all.”

A faint, almost sheepish smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he looked away again, pretending to focus on the path ahead. His breath fogged slightly in the chill, and he shifted his weight, the fabric of his coat rustling quietly.

You passed under a streetlight, the glow catching the subtle line of his jaw, the small crease between his brows as he thought. He always looked like he was carrying a dozen thoughts at once — guarded, composed — but tonight, that wall seemed thinner.

When you slowed a little, your shoulder brushed his, just enough to make him pause mid-step. He blinked once, then laughed softly — a real laugh, not the polite one he used in public.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he said, his tone teasing, though there was no irritation behind it. “Trying to make me flustered?”

You gave him a look, and he exhaled through his nose, a crooked grin forming. “Guess it’s working.”

He kept walking, a little quieter now, like something had shifted between you. There wasn’t any rush in his steps anymore — if anything, he slowed down, matching your pace perfectly. Every few moments, his eyes drifted toward you again, then quickly away. He did it enough times that even he noticed.

“...You know,” he started again, voice hesitant this time, “this whole fake dating thing… we’re supposed to make it look real for everyone else. But sometimes, I think it’s me who ends up getting tricked.”

He gave a dry laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like right now. I know this isn’t supposed to mean anything, but—”

He stopped walking altogether. You turned to face him, the two of you standing under the warm yellow light spilling from the nearest lamp. The quiet hum of the city faded to a dull blur in the distance, leaving only the soft sound of his breathing between you.

He looked at you for a long moment — really looked — his eyes flicking over your face like he was trying to memorize it. Something about the way the light hit your hair, the calm look in your eyes, the faint curl of your lips — it made his chest tighten.

Without thinking, he reached up. His hand moved gently, fingers brushing against the side of your face as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The motion was careful, slow — like he was afraid to break something fragile.

He didn’t pull away immediately. His fingertips lingered for a heartbeat longer than they should have before he dropped his hand, letting out a quiet laugh that sounded more like an exhale.

“...My heart feels weird when I’m with you,” he admitted, his voice low but sincere. “It’s supposed to be pretend, right? But sometimes I can’t tell anymore.”

He rubbed at his chest absently, like he could physically calm whatever was happening inside. “It speeds up every time you look at me like that. Every time you smile.”