Another week slipped by before I even realized it.
Days in school had started to feel… different. Not because the lessons changed, or because Na-yeon became any less dramatic (if anything, she was more dramatic lately). But because of him.
Ha-neul.
Every time I glanced across the classroom, I found myself searching for his blue eyes. Sometimes, I caught him looking too, though he always turned away quickly as if burned. The old Minjae would've let it go, but now, after that day in his house, after those brushes of our hands, I couldn't.
It wasn't enough anymore to just sit near him. I wanted to know him.
---
"Minjae, are you even listening?"
Na-yeon's voice jolted me from my thoughts. We were outside during lunch, the four of us sitting under the shade of a tree. Ji-hyun had just handed out the project outline again, muttering about how we needed to finalize things before the submission day.
"Yeah, yeah, of course," I said quickly, scanning the papers without actually seeing the words.
Na-yeon narrowed her eyes at me. "Don't 'yeah yeah' me. You've been spacing out all week. Again."
Ji-hyun smirked knowingly. "Blue eyes, right?"
My face heated. "Shut up."
Na-yeon gasped dramatically, throwing herself back into the grass. "So it is true! Our Minjae has a crush!"
I buried my face in my hands. "Why are you like this?"
"Because someone has to make your life interesting," she shot back, grinning.
Ha-neul, sitting just a little apart from us with his lunch, didn't look up. But I noticed the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he was fighting a smile.
It was the smallest thing, but it made my chest feel too full.
---
That afternoon, something unexpected happened.
We were in the library, working on a part of the project. Na-yeon had dragged Ji-hyun away to "find inspiration" in the art section, which mostly meant they were arguing in hushed whispers that weren't hushed at all.
And somehow, that left me and Ha-neul alone at the table.
The silence stretched, awkward at first. I tapped my pen against the notebook, pretending to focus. He flipped through his notes, expression unreadable.
Finally, I blurted, "Do you always sit alone at lunch?"
He paused, eyes lifting slowly to mine. "Why?"
I shrugged, feigning casual. "Just curious."
He studied me for a moment, then went back to his notes. "It's quieter that way."
"Quieter," I repeated softly. "But isn't it lonely?"
The pencil in his hand stilled. His jaw tightened, just for a second, before he answered. "I'm used to it."
Something in me twisted.
Used to it. As if loneliness was a habit, something natural for him.
Before I could stop myself, I said, "You don't have to get used to it. Not when you're with us."
His eyes flicked up again, and for once, he didn't look away immediately. The silence between us wasn't so heavy anymore—it felt fragile, tentative, like a thread pulling us closer.
---
Later that week, Na-yeon invited us over to her house for "study sessions."
Which, of course, meant chaos.
Her living room was a battlefield of notebooks, snack wrappers, and Ji-hyun's patience.
"Stop stealing my highlighters," Ji-hyun grumbled for the third time.
Na-yeon twirled the pink one in her fingers. "But you look cuter when you're annoyed."
He froze, ears turning red. "W-what does that even— give it back!"
I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my drink. Ha-neul, sitting beside me, gave a soft huff of amusement. Not quite a laugh, but close.
And maybe that was the moment I realized how much I wanted to hear his real laugh.
---
When the study session ended, I offered to walk him part of the way home. He didn't answer right away, but after a moment, he nodded.
We walked side by side, the evening air cool around us. Streetlights flickered on one by one, casting long shadows.
For a while, neither of us spoke. But it wasn't the suffocating silence I'd feared. It was… comfortable.
Finally, I asked quietly, "Do you regret letting me into your house that day?"
He stopped in his tracks. My chest tightened—maybe I'd gone too far.
But then he shook his head, almost imperceptibly. "No."
Just one word. Soft, but heavy with meaning.
Relief washed over me, followed quickly by something warmer, deeper.
We started walking again. And though our hands didn't touch, they hung close enough that I could feel the faint heat of his presence.
And for the first time in a long time, I thought… maybe I wasn't imagining this.
---
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
The city outside my window hummed faintly—cars in the distance, the occasional bark of a dog, the steady tick of my clock. Usually, that sound kept me restless, but tonight it was drowned out by something else.
His voice.
"No."
One word. Simple, quiet. But it wouldn't leave me. I replayed it again and again, the way his lashes lowered, the slight hesitation before he said it, the certainty hidden underneath.
He didn't regret it.
He didn't regret me.
I pressed my palms against my face, trying to smother the ridiculous grin stretching my mouth. My heart felt too big for my chest, pulsing faster each time I thought of his eyes under the streetlight, the way they looked less cold, less distant, like he was letting me in—just a fraction, but enough to matter.
Sleep wouldn't come easily tonight. Not when the memory of walking beside him, our shoulders nearly brushing, felt brighter than any dream I could have.
And as I finally closed my eyes, one thought echoed clearer than anything else:
I wasn't imagining this.
---
Sleep didn't come easily for me either.
I lay in the dark, the ceiling above me nothing but shadows. Normally, silence was my comfort. Tonight, it was suffocating.
Because in the quiet, I could still hear him. His voice. His laugh. That question.
Do you regret it?
The answer had slipped out before I could stop it. "No." The truth, raw and dangerous.
And when he smiled… something inside me shifted.
Now I couldn't stop replaying that moment—his eyes glowing under the streetlight, the easy way he walked beside me, like he belonged there. Like I wasn't a mistake to stand next to.
My chest felt tight, restless. I should've been afraid of what this meant, of how easily he was undoing me. But instead, a quiet part of me, one I'd buried long ago, whispered something else.
Maybe, just maybe, I didn't want to be alone anymore.
And that thought kept me awake until dawn.
---