The rest of the morning passed in a blur of heartbeat echoes and green sparkles.
Every time Jin Haejun shifted in his seat beside me, my nerves reacted like fireworks trying to stay quiet.
When lunch break arrived, I practically leapt from my seat.
Not because I wanted to escape him—
but because I didn't trust myself not to turn red and explode.
I opened my lunchbox at an empty table in the courtyard and inhaled deeply.
"Calm down, Mirae," I whispered.
"It's just a boy. A very sparkly boy. A boy who writes nicely. A boy who wants to talk later—"
Oh no.
I dropped my chopsticks.
No amount of calming breaths would fix the way my heart was fluttering.
"Talking later" wasn't normal for him, right?
From what I'd overheard, he didn't talk to anyone unless necessary.
So why me?
Before I could spiral further, a shadow fell across the table.
I looked up.
My stomach flipped like a gymnast.
"Ah—Haejun?"
He stood there, expression soft but unsure, holding his lunchbox in one hand and his notebook in the other.
A question shone in his eyes as clearly as his sparkles.
Can I sit here?
I nodded so fast I almost shook my head off. "Y-yes! Of course!"
He sat quietly across from me, opening his lunch with slow, deliberate movements—like someone used to taking his time.
The courtyard breeze fluttered his hair slightly, and the sunlight lit his face in a gentle glow.
I had to drag my gaze away before I stared a hole into him.
We ate in silence at first.
Not awkward. Just peaceful.
Then he scribbled something on his notebook and nudged it toward me.
"Do you always eat alone?"
"Oh—um… today is my first day," I said with a small laugh. "I don't know anyone yet."
He paused.
Then wrote:
"You know me."
I choked on my rice.
After I successfully coughed my lungs back into place, I managed a strangled, "T-that's true…"
He looked almost amused.
Almost.
The sparkles flickered with soft green warmth.
I forced myself to regain dignity and changed the subject, pointing at his neatly arranged lunch.
"You cook for yourself?"
He shook his head and wrote:
"My grandmother does. I live with her."
"Oh," I murmured. "Your parents…?"
He hesitated.
For a moment, the sparkles dimmed—just a fraction, but enough for me to notice.
I lifted my hands. "Sorry! You don't have to answer. I shouldn't have asked."
He shook his head firmly.
Then he wrote slowly:
"My parents work overseas. They visit sometimes."
I smiled gently. "That must be hard… but also nice, living with your grandma."
He nodded, the corners of his lips softening.
Then he pointed to my lunch.
"Did you make that?"
"Oh! No—my mom. She insists on overfeeding me."
He studied my lunchbox—three overly stacked layers of rice, meat, vegetables, and snacks.
He wrote:
"She cares a lot."
"She really does," I said with a smile. "She calls me every morning to check if I'm alive."
He stared at my face for a moment, as if trying to understand the warmth behind my words.
Then something unexpected happened.
He took a piece of tamagoyaki—soft rolled egg—from his lunch, held it out to me with his chopsticks, and looked at me calmly.
I froze.
FROZE.
Time stopped. Birds stopped flying. Clouds paused mid-sky.
In K-dramas, this was the universal sign of Something Big™.
I stared at him, wide-eyed.
He only blinked back, expression unreadable, hand steady.
"You… want me to eat that?" I whispered.
He nodded once.
I leaned forward slowly, like a traumatized baby deer, and took the bite.
Warm. Sweet. Soft—
My heart promptly melted like butter on a hot pan.
"T-thank you," I whispered.
He only tilted his head slightly and wrote:
"You said you skipped breakfast."
OH SWEET UNIVERSE.
I was going to combust.
"Did you hear that?" I asked faintly. "When did I—"
Then I remembered the commotion this morning.
Maybe he'd overheard… or read my lips.
"You're very observant," I muttered.
He shrugged, as if it were nothing.
Then he slid his notebook toward me again.
This time, the words made my breath catch.
"I don't talk to people much.
But you're easy."
My chopsticks slipped from my fingers.
"E-easy?"
His brows furrowed slightly.
He quickly wrote again.
"I mean comfortable."
My brain did a whole emotional rollercoaster.
"Oh," I squeaked. "T-that's… nice."
Comfortable.
He was comfortable with me.
The sparkles around him shimmered softly, quietly, like a gentle heartbeat.
---
The courtyard slowly emptied as lunch break neared its end.
I gathered my things when he tapped the table lightly.
He held up his notebook again.
"Thank you… for today."
I blinked. "I didn't do anything."
He wrote:
"You tried."
Something warm spread in my chest.
"I'll keep trying," I said honestly.
The sparkles around him fluttered—bright, soft, green.
We walked back to class together.
Halfway there, I noticed a few students watching us.
Their glances weren't friendly.
Whispers floated behind us.
"Why is he sitting with her?"
"He never eats with anyone."
"Did she force him?"
"She's clingy already."
I felt my stomach tighten.
But before I could say anything—
He slowed.
Turned his head.
And looked directly at the whispering students.
His gaze wasn't cold.
Just steady. Calm. Certain.
The whispers stopped instantly.
Then, without a word, he looked at me—not at them—and motioned gently for me to keep walking.
My chest tightened for a different reason now.
He wasn't someone who spoke loudly.
He didn't have to.
His presence was enough.
We reached the door of the classroom.
Before stepping in, he tapped my sleeve gently.
I turned.
He wrote one last thing.
"Don't listen to them."
"I wasn't," I lied.
He shook his head once.
Then wrote:
"I'll talk to you after school."
My heart flipped.
"O-okay," I whispered.
He nodded and walked into the room before me.
The sparkles around him glowed brightest then—
not because he was happy,
but because…
he was trying to protect me.
And I realized something important:
He might not hear everything around him.
But I could hear the truth in his silence.