Across town, Seo-jun lounged in a caramel leather armchair in his penthouse, one arm resting along the backrest, his legs casually crossed. He wore a cream oversized Balenciaga sweater and charcoal pinstripe trousers tailored with surgical precision. Brown leather loafers gleamed on his feet, and a watch worth more than some apartments glinted on his wrist. His cologne - oud and cedar, with a hint of bergamot, hung in the air like a memory.
His assistant entered with a tablet and coffee.
"Sir, your manager's here."
"Send him in," Seo-jun murmured, not looking up.
The assistant smiled. "Also... you smell offensively expensive today. Is that Dior?"
"Maison Francis. Your nose is improving."
The manager strode in, already fuming. "We need to talk. About the visit."
Seo-jun sighed. Here we go.
"You can't just show up at her place," the manager snapped. "Forums are on fire. The press caught wind. Sponsors are calling."
"I wasn't thinking about sponsors," Seo-jun said, his voice cool. "I was thinking about her."
His manager blinked. "You're serious?"
"She didn't ask for any of this. I caused it. The least I can do is clean up my own mess."
The manager pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just don't get caught again. And don't get too involved."
But Seo-jun was already smiling faintly, lost somewhere else.
—
Back at school, Ha-eun stared at her phone, now quiet.
Rina tapped the table like a war drum. "When's the date?"
"Saturday. Quiet café. Near Namsan."
Rina grinned like a shark. "Do you even own a first-date outfit? Because if you show up in your lab uniform and hope, I will intervene."
Ha-eun laughed, for real this time.
As they stood to leave, a group of students passed by.
"That's her," one girl whispered.
"The one he called twice during lunch," another said.
The stares returned, but this time, they didn't sting as much.
Because this time, she'd said yes.
And she meant it.
***********
The café smelled of cinnamon, vanilla, and a secret waiting to be told.
Seo-jun sat in the far corner, where light pooled like melted gold beneath the hanging bulbs. The table was discreet, tucked just enough out of view, but he still felt exposed. He wore a thick brown hoodie, the matching cap pulled low, but no disguise could mute his face: the clean symmetry of his jawline, the way light caught on his skin, the impossible calm in his gaze. Every so often, his gold watch flashed, catching reflections like tiny suns. A passing waitress slowed near him, a step too long, caught in the scent of whatever expensive cologne clung to him - oud, something spiced, something slow-burning.
He checked the time.
Three minutes to three.
He'd been early by ten, but he'd already sat for fifteen. Sleep had come and gone like a nervous guest. At dawn, he'd stared into his closet, unsure. He'd even texted his personal assistant a mirror selfie with the caption: Does this look like I'm trying too hard?
The reply came fast. You look like a luxury fragrance ad. Then: She's going to faint.
Now, though, the grin had faded. Now, his heart pounded hard enough to drown out the music.
Then the door chimed.
And he forgot how to breathe.
Ha-eun stepped inside like someone halfway between leaving and staying. She stood still, one hand clutching the strap of her bag, her eyes sweeping the café's quiet warmth. Her shoulders curled inward slightly, like she wasn't used to being seen.
She wore a simple cream sweater tucked neatly into a navy skirt, just above the knees. Her hair, brushed and wavy, caught with soft movement. The red on her lips startled him, not because it was bold, but because it wasn't. It was the kind of color that whispered rather than shouted.
Seo-jun stood before he realized he had.
Ha-eun hesitated. Her phone rang, and she turned her back slightly, whispering into it.
"Unni. I can't. He looks like a drama character."
Rina's voice burst through: "Get in there, Cinderella. That man is a live-action K-drama. If you faint, make sure you fall into his arms."
Ha-eun ended the call.
When she looked up, their eyes met again.
Seo-jun smiled, not the public smile she'd seen on billboards or magazine covers. This one was real. Uneven. Slightly unsure.
"You came," he said, stepping forward. He pulled out a chair for her. "I was afraid you'd change your mind."
"I almost did," she admitted as she sat.
He laughed, lowering himself into the seat opposite hers. "You look..." His voice softened. "You look stunning."
She blinked. "You look... rich."
He laughed harder this time, head tilted back. "I'll take it."
A waitress approached, and Seo-jun didn't look up. "Whatever she's having, I'll have the same."
The waitress nodded, seemingly unaware.
"Is the cap working?" Ha-eun asked.
"Barely. If anyone looks too hard, I'll cry and say I'm his doppelgänger."
A reluctant laugh escaped her lips.
"So," he began, resting his hands lightly on the table, "how've you been? Since the... explosion."
"You mean since I became the antagonist in your public romance?"
He winced. "Deserved."
She studied him for a moment. "You're not what I expected."
He tilted his head. "What did you expect?"
"A narcissist in designer sunglasses who thinks every girl owes him a fairytale."
"Ouch."
"Am I wrong?"
He smirked. "Slightly."
Their drinks arrived. She sipped and gave a little nod. "At least the coffee's good."
"I wanted this to feel... normal. Quiet."
"For me?"
He nodded. "I thought maybe I'd taken that away. The ordinary."
She didn't speak right away. Then, quietly: "I miss walking down the street without being a headline. Without people whispering like I'm a plot twist."
He met her gaze and didn't look away. "I never meant to break your life, Ha-eun."
"It's not broken," she said. "Just cracked a little."
He smiled, and the space between them softened.
They talked, then. Really talked. About childhood cartoons, odd school lunches, and how Rina once tried to dye her hair with beet juice and came out looking like a fruit roll-up. He told her about sneaking ramen in the trainee dorms. She told him about the art class that made her fall in love with shading apples.
For a little while, it felt like something outside of time. Private. Safe.
When it was time to go, Seo-jun stood first. "I'll drop you off."
"I can take the—"
"You're not riding a bus after coffee with Asia's golden boy," he said with mock outrage.