"Where?"
"My favorite place in Seoul. My grandma's garden."
She smiled. "I'd like that."
He returned the smile, tired now, but peaceful.
——-
The door clicked softly shut behind them as Seo Jun stepped inside, Ha-eun following close. She paused in the entryway, her eyes sweeping across the serene, minimalist living room. Everything was soft whites, pale greys, and polished wood, the kind of expensive simplicity that whispered wealth, not shouted it. A wide white couch framed a marble coffee table, where a single calla lily arched from a thin crystal vase, the stem curved like a dancer's arm. Above the fireplace, a flat-screen television rested like an untouched painting.
Seo Jun's shoes padded quietly across the floor. He turned, extending his hand.
Ha-eun hesitated.
She stared at it, not because it was unfamiliar, but because it felt like a decision. Slowly, cautiously, she placed her hand in his. His palm was warm, his fingers long and gentle. He didn't pull, didn't press. He simply waited. And she followed.
They moved down a quiet hallway until Seo Jun stopped at a sleek black glass door. A soft beep sounded as the digital lock clicked open.
"This place is like my sanctuary," he said, his voice low.
The door opened onto a garden, and Ha-eun blinked.
It was small, but impossibly beautiful. White camellias bloomed along one wall, their petals ghostly in the summer light. Lavender clustered along the path in soft bursts of color. A pale wooden trellis arched overhead, threaded with climbing roses, their petals fading into blush. The grass was neatly trimmed, and in the center stood a wooden bench, weathered and loved.
They sat side by side.
For a while, neither spoke. The wind moved gently through the garden. Somewhere, a bird sang once, then vanished. Seo Jun tilted his head, studying her. He lifted a hand, hesitated, and gently tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.
A small, tender gesture.
She turned to him. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes flickering between his and the roses behind him. When she spoke, her voice was quiet.
"I think we should be friends."
His brows lifted slightly. For a moment, something passed across his face, not disappointment, not anger. Just a quiet sadness.
But he nodded.
"Friends," he echoed. "I can do that."
She smiled, small, careful. But inside, her heart knocked against her ribs like it wanted to take it back. Still, she kept the line between them, like a hand pressed to glass, close enough to see through, but not enough to touch.
Later, as they returned to the house, Ha-eun's gaze caught on a framed photo hanging in the hallway: a black-and-white portrait of two elderly people standing in front of a modest country home, holding hands.
"You look like her," she said softly.
Seo Jun followed her gaze and smiled. "You think?"
"Your grandmother?"
He nodded. "That's her. She used to call me Jun-ah and tell me to grow a heart bigger than my stage." He laughed quietly. "I think I grew the fame first."
"She looks proud."
"She was. Even after she passed, I come back to this garden. It still feels like she's here."
Before she could reply, rain began tapping softly against the windows.
They turned to the glass wall. The garden outside blurred, water painting the scene in impressionistic strokes.
"Oops," Seo Jun said with a smile. "Looks like we'd better leave before we get drenched."
Ha-eun wrapped her arms around herself. The air had turned colder.
Without a word, Seo Jun slipped off his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. She stiffened slightly, surprised, but didn't pull away. It smelled like him: leather, something warm and expensive, layered with something quieter, more personal.
He opened the door and guided her toward the car. Rain spilled harder now. She kept the jacket tight around her as she slid into the passenger seat. Seo Jun followed, pushing damp hair back from his forehead.
Just as the car pulled away, his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen, then answered. "Hyung?"
Min Jae's voice crackled through. "This isn't good, Seo Jun. You were seen."
Seo Jun's expression shifted. "Seen where?"
"With her. Outside the event. A blogger posted pictures, tagged you before your security even caught up. It's spreading. Fast."
Silence.
He looked over at Ha-eun. She'd folded the jacket neatly in her lap, fingers fidgeting with the hem. She hadn't heard the call, but something in his eyes told her enough.
"Tell the team I'll handle it," he said quietly. "No statements. Not yet."
"Are you serious? You've got five brands watching this. You still haven't signed the perfume deal. You can't just—"
He hung up.
Silence again, but this time, it wasn't gentle.
Ha-eun shifted. "Is it...bad?"
Seo Jun turned to her. "Not to me. But to them? The world loves a story it can tear apart. They don't wait to understand it. Just... twist it."
She nodded slowly. Her throat felt tight.
He leaned back, resting his arm on the door. "Let them say what they want. I'll protect what matters."
She was quiet for a long beat. Then: "What if I don't want to be protected? What if I want to walk on my own... just not in someone else's spotlight?"
His gaze softened. "Then I'll step back. Not out. Just enough that you have space."
She looked at him, and found no demand in his eyes, no pressure. Just something still, and unexpectedly kind.
Her heart stuttered. She turned away.
Outside, the city blurred through the rain. Umbrellas blooming at crosswalks like petals in a storm. Life kept moving, always. But inside the car, everything had slowed.
**********^
Yoon-woo's voice echoed through the glass-walled conference room.
"You're stalling the deal for a common girl, Seo Jun?" His tone was sharp, a practiced mix of authority and exasperation, honed over years of managing stars who forgot they were stars.
"You're not just an idol anymore, you're a brand. A global force. Do you understand what that means?"
Seo Jun leaned back in the leather chair, fingers pressed to his temple, eyes shut like he could press the pressure away. He couldn't.
Across the table, his assistant Min-jae sat with a tablet in hand, the unsigned perfume campaign contract glowing on its screen, billions of won just waiting for a name. Beside him, assistant manager Jin-sook flipped through a folder of press clippings, a carousel of glowing reviews, fabricated rumors, and headline chaos.
The room was sleek and sterile, all chrome and cold marble. A place built for transactions, not emotions. Stacks of contracts lay lined awaiting orders, sealed and embossed, their weight not just physical but psychological.
"I'll sign," Seo Jun said quietly.
Yoon-woo scoffed. "Don't sound like you're doing the world a favor."
Seo Jun didn't respond. His phone lay face-up on the table, screen softly aglow with a gossip blog headline:
BREAKING: Mystery Girl Spotted Again With Han Seo Jun, Who Is She?
The photo was grainy but clear enough. Ha-eun, caught mid-step, head slightly turned. No makeup. Baggy clothes. Shoes that didn't echo on marble floors.
Ordinary. Real. Untouched by spotlight.
He locked the screen.
"She's not a mystery," he muttered.
"What was that?" Yoon-woo asked.
"Nothing." Seo Jun picked up the pen and signed in practiced, impatient strokes.
"There. Happy?"
Yoon-woo nodded. "Thrilled. Just in time, too. Press interview next Thursday. Gucci x Seoul show the week after. Rehearsals for your winter comeback begin this weekend."
Min-jae reached across the table and handed him the next document with the careful urgency of someone trying not to breathe wrong. Seo Jun signed again. And again. His signature repeating like a machine, even as his thoughts were miles away.
Then came a knock on the glass door.
Everyone turned.