warnings: slow burn, makeout, suggestive, lots of avoidance, lmk if i missed sumn | yunah and heeseung are siblings, also yunah ftw she knows her brother isn't a bad guy :>
a/n: i hate the rushed ending. pls enjoy TT-TT
part one.
the heat settles over the town like something alive and pulsating.
the late afternoon sunlight is still bearable though. the road outside the small bus station shimmers faintly where the asphalt has warmed too much under the sun, and even the breeze that occasionally stirs through the trees feels thick and slow.
you step off the bus with a small grunt, dragging your suitcase down the narrow metal steps while trying not to lose your balance. the movement immediately makes the warmth cling more stubbornly to your skin, the back of your neck already damp the second you step off the air-conditioned bus.
for a second you simply stand there on the curb, squinting slightly while your eyes adjust to the brightness.
the station is a small building, one shaded bench, a vending machine that hums quietly against the wall, and a short stretch of sidewalk that leads toward the main road cutting through the town.
you pull your phone out of your bag and check the last message yunah sent you: he’ll pick you up from the station, don’t let him take monopoly over the aux tho.
her confidence about the situation had been almost suspicious. the idea of her older brother picking you up had felt strangely formal when she mentioned it, even though she had waved it off like it was the most obvious arrangement in the world.
“he’s home anyway,” she had said. “and it’s like a twenty minute drive.”
standing here now, you feel a small knot of anticipation settle in your stomach. you’ve technically met yunah’s brother before, but that had been years ago.
your mind drifts back to that day automatically: yunah’s first semester move-in, the chaotic dorm hallway filled with boxes and confused freshmen. her older brother carrying half her belongings upstairs while you hauled your own boxes.
you had barely spoken to him then.
mostly you had stood awkwardly off to the side, trying not to feel like you were in the way.
since then, he had existed mostly as a distant character in yunah’s stories. sometimes she spoke about him fondly, sometimes with dramatic irritation, but always with the comfortable familiarity of someone describing family.
you had seen pictures occasionally too, usually when yunah scrolled through her phone while telling some unrelated story. but pictures are different from real life, and you’re suddenly very aware that you’re about to live in his house for six months.
the thought makes you shift your weight slightly where you’re standing. frankly speaking, this hadn’t been your first plan.
when the internship placement email arrived a few weeks ago, you had been sitting cross-legged on the floor of your apartment, surrounded by notebooks and printed research articles, your laptop balanced precariously on the coffee table. at first you hadn’t even reacted properly, you had just stared at the name of the clinic and the town attached to it, trying to place it on the mental map you kept of veterinary programs across the country.
it was one of those clinics that your professor had spoken highly of when he forwarded the placement opportunity, mentioning the experience you would gain working with injured animals over extended treatment periods would be an asset. so it had credibility, that wasn’t the issue. the issue was the location.
which had been enough to convince you to apply without thinking too hard about the practical details. but the practical details, it turned out, were where the problem began.
you had assumed – somewhat naively – that there would be student housing nearby, or at least a couple of short-term rentals meant for interns cycling through the clinic. you opened every rental site you could find, filtered results by distance, price, availability. you even checked the bulletin boards for nearby universities just in case someone was subletting a room for the summer.
the results had been… underwhelming.
there were a few bed-and-breakfast places in town, charming in that quaint, small-town way that looked nice in pictures but charged nightly rates that made your stomach twist when you imagined multiplying them by six months. one short-term rental appeared promising until you noticed it was already booked through the entire summer.
everything else was either too far away or far too expensive for an internship stipend.
for a couple of days, you convinced yourself you could make the commute work from the nearest larger town. you mapped the drive, calculated fuel costs, estimated how long it would take to get to the clinic before morning rounds started.
then you imagined finishing a twelve-hour shift and driving an hour back in the dark after dealing with injured animals all day. the idea had felt… unrealistic, even in your highly ambitious mindset.
which was how you ended up calling yunah.
yunah had listened patiently for approximately thirty seconds before cutting you off with a loud, incredulous laugh.
“you’re joking.”
“what?” you had asked defensively.
“you’re literally going to my hometown and didn’t think to ask me about where you’re staying?”
“your hometown?” you had repeated, momentarily thrown off.
and that is somewhat the story behind how you end up in this situation. the conversation had only spiraled from there. yunah telling you that her parents were traveling all summer, that the house was practically empty, and that the only person staying there was her brother because he was working remotely. you had immediately protested, insisting that showing up to live with her older brother for half a year sounded like a terrible imposition, but yunah had waved off the concern with the confidence of someone who had already solved the problem in her head.
and when the next day she had texted you “i already asked him, he said it was fine.” that had been it. you remember staring at the message for a long moment, your phone balanced loosely in your hand while your brain tried to process the simplicity of it.
and that is how you find yourself now, standing under the slow, heavy heat of a summer afternoon, suitcase handle digging faintly into your palm, waiting for your best friend’s older brother to pick you up from a bus station that looks like it hasn’t changed much in the last twenty years.
it still feels a little unreal.
six months ago, this town hadn’t meant anything to you beyond being a name on a map. now it’s where you’ll be waking up every morning before sunrise to bike or drive to the clinic, where you’ll be spending long afternoons, where you’ll probably spend late nights hunched over research notes trying to prove to yourself that you deserve the placement your professor had recommended you for.
and apparently, it’s also where you’ll be living in yunah’s childhood home.
with her brother.
the two of you had so far existed in that strange in-between space where you technically know of each other but don’t really know each other at all. he’s always been a peripheral figure in your life. you know small fragments about him without ever having had a real conversation yourself. that he works in music, that he travels often, that he has a habit of disappearing for months when work gets busy and then showing up again like he was never gone.
beyond that, he has always remained a little vague in your mind. which is probably why the idea of living under the same roof suddenly feels strange in a way you can’t quite name.
the heat presses lazily around you again as you shift your weight, the wheels of your suitcase scraping lightly across the pavement when you adjust your grip. the afternoon sun has begun dipping slightly lower now, the light softening just enough that the air feels less blinding than it had when the bus first pulled in.
there’s a small convenience store across the road with faded signage in the window, and somewhere farther down the street a dog barks once before settling again. the whole place has the slow, unhurried rhythm of a town that isn’t particularly concerned with time passing.
you check your phone again out of habit, debating whether you should call the new contact in your phone that yunah had passed on to you: heeseung (yunah’s brother)
you had saved the contact but never actually typed out a message. now your thumb hovers over the call button for a second before you sigh quietly and lower the phone again. he was probably on the way anyway. besides, you could just wait in the station, it was cool there.
for a place that’s technically a bus station, the area feels strangely calm. no crowd of waiting passengers, no rushing commuters weaving through each other with bags slung over their shoulders. just the empty bench, the quiet road, and the faint sounds of summer humming lazily through the trees.
the slow pace of it all makes the moment feel suspended somehow, like time has stretched itself out for a while before deciding to move again.
you don’t have to spend too long waiting though, because not even five minutes after you’ve made yourself somewhat comfortable on the cool metal bench, the low hum of an approaching car drifts into the quiet.
the sound is soft at first, tires rolling over sun-warmed asphalt somewhere beyond the station lot. a second later, a sedan turns the corner slowly and pulls into the small parking area, gravel crunching faintly beneath the wheels as it eases into one of the empty spaces.
you straighten without realizing you’re doing it. the engine cuts off, and for a moment the car just sits there, heat shimmering faintly above the hood. then the driver’s side door opens.
the person who steps out pauses briefly beside the car, stretching one arm over his head in the absent way people do after sitting for too long. the movement is loose and unhurried, like he isn’t particularly worried about being late.
it takes you a second to recognize him.
not because he looks completely different, but because memories from years ago never quite align perfectly with the person standing in front of you now. still, the height gives him away almost immediately.
even from across the lot he’s noticeably tall, broad-shouldered in a way that makes the simple black t-shirt he’s wearing sit easily against his frame. his hair is slightly longer than you remember, a deep reddish brown shade that catches the late afternoon light and softens at the edges where the sun hits it. the strands fall loosely around his face, brushing his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.
as he shuts the car door and starts walking toward you, the movement pushes some of the hair back from his face, revealing the clean line of his jaw and the small glint of silver along his ear where a couple of piercings catch the light. up close, the details settle in more clearly – the smooth slope of his nose, the calm, almost thoughtful set of his expression, the faint sheen of warmth along his skin from the summer heat.
you are momentarily startled at the way he towers over you.
it’s not something you had fully registered when he stepped out of the car, but now that he’s standing a few steps away and steadily closing the distance between you, the difference becomes impossible to ignore. your brain remembers yunah mentioning it casually once or twice – something about her brother being annoyingly tall – but memories rarely prepare you for the reality of someone’s physical presence.
he stops in front of you, and instinctively you find yourself tilting your chin up just a little to meet his eyes.
his eyes move over your face in quiet recognition, thoughtful rather than scrutinizing, like he’s piecing together something familiar.
“you must be (y/n),” he says after a moment.
he has such a soft voice, you think. it’s not what you expected at all. somehow, the image yunah’s stories had built in your head had always been accompanied by something louder, more teasing, the way she described him when she was annoyed with him. but the voice that reaches you now is low and even, warm in a quiet sort of way that settles easily into the still afternoon air.
for a second you simply nod, realizing a moment too late that you should probably answer with actual words.
“yeah,” you say quickly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear more out of nervous habit than anything else. “hi.”
you feel strangely aware of yourself standing there – of the heat clinging lightly to the back of your neck after the bus ride, of the way your fingers are still curled around the handle of your suitcase, of the fact that you’ve been staring at yunah’s older brother for a few seconds longer than is probably socially appropriate.
he doesn’t seem bothered by the silence, though.
if anything, he looks perfectly comfortable standing in it, the warm afternoon air settling quietly between the two of you. his gaze lingers on your face for a moment longer, thoughtful rather than searching, like he’s simply placing you properly in a memory that had been half-formed until now.
“yunah has mentioned you quite a lot,” he says after a moment, his tone easy. this piece of information makes you burn a little.
you feel a faint warmth creep up the back of your neck that has nothing to do with the lingering summer heat. yunah talks about a lot of things, that much you know, but hearing that she’s apparently talked about you enough for her brother to recognize you so easily still feels oddly exposing.
“oh,” you say, the word slipping out before you can think of something more articulate. “hopefully only good things.”
a small flicker of amusement passes over his face, subtle but unmistakable.
“mostly,” he says. the answer is so calmly delivered that it takes you a second to realize he’s teasing you just a little.
“she talks about you like you’re the reason she survived college,” he says, the hint of a smile appearing now at the corner of his mouth. that does absolutely nothing to help the warmth spreading across your face.
you huff a quiet laugh, suddenly very aware of how long you’ve been standing there under his gaze.
“well,” you say, adjusting your grip on the handle of your suitcase out of habit. “she exaggerates.”
the moment settles into another quiet pause after that, though it feels easier now, the edges of the first-meeting awkwardness slowly softening into something more natural. then his eyes drop briefly to the suitcase beside you.
“have you been waiting long?” he asks.
you shake your head. “no, the bus just got here.”
he nods once in acknowledgement before stepping forward, and before you can react, he reaches down and takes hold of the suitcase handle, lifting it upright with an easy motion.
“oh— you don’t have to—” you start instinctively.
“it’s fine,” he says, already pulling it gently toward the car.
its almost like it hadn’t even crossed his mind that the gesture might be something worth asking about first.
you watch for half a second as he turns back toward the parking lot, guiding the suitcase behind him across the sun-warmed pavement. when he realizes you’re still standing there, he glances back over his shoulder slightly and nods toward the car.
“come on,” he says simply.
there’s something oddly reassuring about the casual way he says it. you fall into step beside him a moment later, the small gravel lot crunching softly beneath your shoes as the two of you walk toward the car.
the ride itself is a quiet one, he lets the radio play softly, turning the airconditioning on as he pulls out of the small lot slowly, the tires rolling back onto the narrow road that cuts through the town. through the passenger window you catch small glimpses of it as you pass – the convenience store with its faded sign, the sleepy row of houses set a little farther back from the street, the trees leaning lazily over the road as if they’ve been there longer than anything else.
almost immediately, you can see how green it is here.
it’s unlike the sort of manicured parks or narrow strips between concrete sidewalks so common in the city. here, the trees stretch thickly along the roadside, their branches reaching over the narrow asphalt like they’ve claimed the space long before the road was ever built. bushes grow unchecked along fences, and every few houses there seems to be a yard spilling over with plants that have long since outgrown whatever order someone originally tried to impose on them.
you find yourself leaning slightly toward the window without realizing it, watching the way the sunlight filters through the leaves overhead as the car moves beneath them. the late afternoon light catches in patches across the road, shifting in and out of shadow as you pass under each tree.
“you’ll probably get used to it pretty quickly,” heeseung’s voice cuts through your thoughts, glancing briefly in your direction before returning his attention to the road. you turn slightly in your seat.
“used to what?”
“the quiet,” he says simply. “people who come from the city usually notice it first.”
you glance back out the window, watching the town drift past.
“…it’s kind of nice,” you admit.
the corner of his mouth lifts faintly again, that small almost-smile appearing before fading just as quickly. “yeah,” he says. “it is.”
the road curves gently ahead of you, leading out of the small station area and deeper into town. a few cars pass in the opposite direction, but otherwise the streets remain mostly empty, the late afternoon sunlight stretching long shadows across the pavement.
you rest your elbow lightly against the door, trying not to feel overly aware of the fact that you’re sitting in a car with someone who will now be part of your daily life for the next half year.
beside you, heeseung drives with the quiet focus of someone familiar with every turn of the road. one hand rests loosely against the steering wheel while the other shifts briefly to adjust the air conditioning before returning to the wheel again.
“yunah told me to let you take her room upstairs,” he says after another minute, his voice carrying easily through the soft hum of the car. “said you’d probably like the window view. it faces the backyard,” he explains. “there’s a lot of trees back there.”
“oh,” you say. “that sounds nice.”
he nods again, the easy quiet between you returning as the car continues down the sunlit road.
outside, the town stretches slowly around you, unfamiliar but calm in a way that makes the knot of uncertainty in your chest loosen just a little.
you lean your head lightly against the seat, watching the road unfold ahead of you. and somewhere in the back of your mind, a quiet realization settles in alongside the hum of the car and the warmth of the fading afternoon.
for the next six months, this road, and the house waiting at the end of it – is going to be home.
part two.
the house sits a little deeper into the neighborhood than you expect.
it’s not even that big. in fact, the first thing you notice as heeseung turns into the narrow gravel driveway is how modest it looks compared to the image your mind had built from yunah’s casual descriptions. the structure is simple, low-roofed and warm-toned, the wood along the outer walls softened by years of sun and weather. the roof tiles are a muted charcoal color, their edges slightly uneven in the way older houses tend to be, and the wide front windows reflect patches of sky through the branches of the trees surrounding the yard.
what stands out first, though, isn’t the house; it’s the yard. a peach tree stretches over part of the garden, its branches heavy with bright fruits that hang like small lanterns among thick green leaves.
“they’re not ready yet,” heeseung says, tracing your gaze across the yard, adding as he reaches for the door handle. “if you eat them now they taste awful.”
“you’ll know when they are though,” he continues easily, stepping out of the car. “they start falling everywhere.” he explains, already setting your suitcase gently onto the gravel.
heeseung carries your suitcase inside without much ceremony, setting it down near the staircase before giving you a quick tour of the main floor. the kitchen opens directly into the living room. a guitar rests on a stand near the far wall, beside a small amp and a pair of speakers. the couch is large and worn in the way furniture becomes after years of people sitting in the same spots.
“your room’s upstairs,” he adds a moment later. “second door on the left.”
the room is simple but comfortable. yunah’s presence is still visible in small ways – a few books stacked neatly on the desk near the window, a corkboard with faded photos pinned along the edge, and a soft blanket folded over the corner of the bed. the window itself is wide, just like he had mentioned in the car, and when you walk a few steps closer you immediately see what he meant about the view.
the backyard stretches out behind the house in a patchwork of green and shade, the branches of the peach tree reaching just close enough that some of the leaves brush lightly against the glass when the breeze moves through them.
“you can move things around if you want,” heeseung says from the doorway, his tone casual. “yunah left most of her stuff, but she won’t care.”
you shake your head quickly. “no, it’s okay. it’s really nice.”
he studies the room for a second as if checking that everything is in order before nodding once. “bathroom’s down the hall if you want to shower. dinner shouldn’t take too long.”
the bathroom is small but bright, the last of the evening light filtering through the frosted window above the sink. the tiles are cool beneath your feet when you step inside, and for a moment you simply lean against the counter, letting out a quiet breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
the day has been longer than it felt while it was happening. bus rides always blur time strangely, and the lingering warmth from the road still seems to cling faintly to your skin. the shower is exactly what you need.
you turn the water on and wait a second for the flow to even before stepping beneath the stream, tilting your head back as the heat runs down the back of your neck and shoulders. almost immediately, the tightness that had built up through the day begins to loosen.
you reach for the bottle of body wash sitting in the small rack against the tile wall, squeezing a little into your palm before the scent reaches you. it takes a second for your brain to place it.
clean, slightly citrusy, with a light woody scent underneath – something warm that lingers just at the edge of being sweet. for the first few minutes you don’t really think about anything at all. it’s the same scent you caught earlier from heeseung.
eventually your thoughts drift somewhere more practical; your first day tomorrow at the clinic. you mentally start sorting through everything you’ll need – the early start time, the paperwork you packed in the front pocket of your bag, the notebook you always carry. you try to remember the name of the senior vet your professor mentioned in his email, the one who usually supervises interns during the first few weeks.
you already know that it's just a tiny clinic run by one of your seniors from university and about three or four more attending vets, one of whom you know is an intern. your mom had not been particularly happy about the location, nor the scale of the clinic, preferring you to join one of those big firms in the city. but your professor had been convincing enough and eventually your mother had relented, though not without reminding you several times that you were “wasting an opportunity.”
you tilt your head slightly under the spray of the shower, letting the water run through your hair while the memory drifts past. for the most part, you had tried not to let the comments bother you.
you’ve always been serious about your studies, that much is true. long hours in the library, meticulous notes, research papers that stretched late into the night while your roommates went out for dinner or drinks. but that had never meant you were chasing prestige for the sake of it.
you rinse the last of the soap from your arms, watching the water spiral down the drain before reaching for the tap and turning the shower off. your reflection in the mirror is slightly blurred, your hair curling faintly at the ends. you run the towel through it quickly before pulling on a loose t-shirt and comfortable shorts, the fabric cool against your skin.
by the time you step back into the hallway, the house has settled into the quiet rhythm of evening. the faint clatter of dishes reaches you from downstairs.
when you make your way toward the kitchen a moment later, your hair still slightly damp at the ends, you find heeseung standing by the small dining table with his back half-turned to you, setting down a pair of bowls.
a warm light glows above the table, catching in the strands of his hair while he sets the table. you can feel the chill air from the air conditioning the moment you step off the last stair, a welcome contrast to the thick summer heat that had followed you all day. it settles lightly against your skin, cool enough that the damp ends of your hair make you shiver just a little.
the kitchen feels different now compared to earlier in the afternoon. the fading daylight outside has softened into evening shadows beyond the window, leaving the inside of the house wrapped in the warm yellow glow of the overhead light. it casts gentle shapes across the wooden table and the counters, turning the quiet space into something that feels unexpectedly calm.
for a second you linger near the doorway without saying anything. heeseung is moving around the table with ease, humming lightly to himself as he works.
he must hear your footsteps a moment later because he glances over his shoulder.
“you’re done?” he asks, his voice carrying easily through the room.
you nod, stepping a little further into the kitchen while reaching up to run your fingers briefly through the damp strands of your hair. “yeah.”
“good timing,” he says, pushing the last chair back slightly. “dinner’s ready.”
you move closer then, the scent of food drifting toward you as you reach the table. it’s nothing extravagant, but it smells comforting in a way that makes your stomach realize suddenly how long it has been since you last ate.
there’s rice steaming softly in a bowl, a simple stir-fry of vegetables, and a small plate of something that smells faintly like garlic and sesame oil. your stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud and heeseung looks up at you, his eyes widening just slightly in surprise.
for a split second neither of you says anything. then the sound seems to register properly, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward in quiet amusement. you feel heat rush instantly to your face.
“oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, covering your face briefly with one hand as you slide into the chair across from him. “that’s so embarrassing.”
he lets out a soft laugh, the sound low and easy. reaching for the rice bowl and scooping a portion into yours before you can protest, he says, “you must have had a long journey today, nothing to be embarrassed about.”
the way he says it is so matter-of-fact that it drains the moment of any real awkwardness. and right off the bat you can tell that, despite yunah’s many dramatic recollections of an annoying older brother, heeseung seems to be the kind of person who is kind simply because it comes naturally to him.
you glance down at the bowl he’s just filled, the rice still steaming faintly.
“thanks,” you mumble, reaching for your chopsticks. he just nods once and begins serving himself, like the moment has already passed.
dinner is a simple affair, you had mostly expected it to be awkward, given that you were practically strangers, but the silence that settles between bites isn’t the stiff, uncomfortable kind you had braced yourself for.
heeseung watches you carefully, though subtly, from across the table. you sit straighter than necessary, your eyes keep darting around the kitchen, settling on the worn wood of the table, the small stack of cookbooks by the counter, the way you scratch the back of your neck every now and then betrays your nervous energy, though you try to act casual.
“do you… like it here so far?” he asks finally, his voice soft enough to not startle you. he reaches for a small bowl of stir-fry, sliding it toward you, but makes no sudden movements. the gesture is simple, unobtrusive.
you blink, caught mid-thought, then nod. “i… yeah. i think so. it’s… quiet. peaceful.” your voice is low, hesitant. “a lot different from the city.”
heeseung nods slowly, understanding your sentiments without needing to say much. it had been the same for him when he first left for the city – the dizzying rush of noise, the sharp angles of concrete, the way people moved as if they were in a constant hurry had been a sharp contrast to the way he had grown up here. he and yunah had grown up in this house, the same worn floors, the same peach tree out back, learning the rhythms of the seasons and the subtle changes of light through the windows.
“i get that,” he says softly, almost to himself, then looks up at you. “yunah had been particularly worried when she had to first move out to the dorms for university. i remember her crying in her room the night before,” a soft laugh tumbles out of his lips, “i was worried she won’t be able to get used to the city, so we were all thankful that she was adjusting well not even a month in.”
you tilt your head slightly, realising he’s looking at you as if he’s grateful.
“oh…oh, well, it wasn’t all me. yunah is naturally sweet and friendly, she wouldn’t have had any problem making friends. i guess i’m lucky we got roomed together, because truthfully, she’s looked out for me more than i have on most occasions, even though i’m elder to her.”
you scratch the back of your neck, as if the confession itself had been something to be ashamed about. god knows your university days had not been easy, but while most people breezed through it, you had a particular inclination of always keeping track of the small details that most people ignored. it had been a survival mechanism more than anything, maybe that’s why yunah had trusted you so easily, and maybe that’s why you ended up here, sitting across from heeseung, in this quiet kitchen, feeling the weight of a gratitude that wasn’t entirely yours.
heeseung’s gaze doesn’t falter. he tilts his head slightly, as if considering the admission, but not judging it. there’s a soft calm in the way he moves, in the subtle ease of his shoulders. “i see,” he says, almost thoughtfully. “give yourself some credit though, its hard to maintain friendships at our age and keeping up with everything else. makes sense she’d latch onto someone reliable.”
he reaches for his bowl again, but doesn’t pick up the chopsticks right away, just lets his fingers hover over the edge. he’s not fishing for a reaction, just… noticing. you catch the quiet way he’s observing, how his attention lingers without pressing, and it makes the kitchen feel a little less empty, a little less tense.
“not that it matters much,” he adds after a pause, voice neutral, almost conversational. “i’m just… glad she had someone like that. that’s all.”
outside, the peach tree sways in the evening breeze, the last evening light filtering through the leaves and casting dappled patterns across the grass. heeseung glances briefly at the window, then back at the table, his gaze soft.
his mind drifts briefly to the phone call with yunah a week ago. she had called late, a little flustered, explaining that you would be coming to town for the internship but didn’t have anywhere to stay. yunah had asked if it would be okay for you to stay at the house for the summer while she was away, and heeseung had said yes – simply, because to be honest, he was not the type to overthink things.
yunah had mentioned of course, that you were generally a reserved person, careful with words and gestures, the type who listened more than spoke. heeseung remembered her emphasis, almost as a kind sibling warning that there wasn’t any need to “entertain” you or try to break through some imagined barrier. you were someone who did not demand attention, so he had been fairly warned that there was a good chance you would make yourself scarce if need be.
he doesn’t know you that well yet, and he’s not someone who forms opinions off first impressions, but he can tell that you certainly were on the quieter side with the way you don’t scramble around to make conversation. whether you do that intentionally because you’re nervous or whether it comes naturally doesn’t really matter to him. heeseung doesn’t read it as coldness or distance.
heeseung lets the thought linger, letting the silence settle comfortably between you, and in that, there’s a subtle understanding; not every presence needs words to be noticed, and not every connection has to start with conversation.
part three.
it seems that heeseung might have underestimated the extent to which you ‘make yourself scarce’.
the first few days pass in a strange sort of quiet that he only notices once he starts paying attention to it. he’s obviously used to it because he’s been living alone, but now that he knows you’re here, the silence registers differently. nit was like realizing there’s another presence moving through the same house, even if your paths rarely overlap.
for the most part, your schedules simply never align. by the time heeseung wakes up most mornings, you’re already gone. the first few days it happens, he thinks it’s coincidence. he’s up most days by nine am, which in his books is still pretty early (it’s not, really.)
well, it doesn’t bother him obviously. he knows you’re not here this summer to enjoy lazy days, you’re here for your internship. it’s perfectly normal for you to be up and about early. what confuses him is the absence of your presence.
there are no bowls in the sink. no half-used mugs left near the kettle. no crumbs on the counter, no open cabinet doors, nothing that suggests someone hurried through the kitchen before rushing out the door. when he opens the fridge, everything looks exactly the way he left it the night before. even the chairs around the table sit tucked neatly under the wood like they hadn’t been touched.
heeseung doesn’t notice it the first morning. or the second. it’s only after a few days that the pattern starts to stand out, the quiet neatness of everything, the way the counters stay cleared, the way the sponge by the sink is always squeezed dry and set back exactly where it belongs.
heeseung isn’t messy by any means, but he’s never been that precise. he leaves small traces of himself everywhere without thinking – his mug on the table, a notebook left open on the couch, his guitar leaning against the wall instead of properly set on its stand. the house, when it’s just him, reflects that.
it’s almost impressive, honestly. the way you seem to slip out of the house each morning without disturbing anything. no creaking floorboards, no clatter of dishes, not even the kettle’s soft whistle breaking the quiet.
like you move through the space with the awareness of someone who doesn’t want to be noticed at all. heeseung doesn’t know whether that’s intentional or just habit.
but after a few days, he finds himself pausing in the kitchen sometimes, mug in hand, glancing around the room as if trying to catch the smallest sign that you’d been there before him.
the only real evidence that you live here at all shows up sometime around the end of the first week.
the only real evidence that you live here at all shows up sometime around the end of the first week when a small stack of ramen packets appears in the pantry.
they’re pushed to the side of the shelf, lined up neatly beside a box of tea bags and a small jar of instant coffee. heeseung pauses the first time he notices them, hand halfway to the soy sauce bottle.
it makes sense, he supposes. they’re quick, cheap and easy to make. the kind of thing someone surviving long hours at a clinic might rely on when they don’t have the time or energy to cook a proper meal.
still, the sight of them lingers in his mind longer than he expects. mostly because the ramen quietly explains something else he’s been noticing: you don’t really eat dinner with him. at least not after the first night.
but that doesn’t explain why you would be binging on noodles every night. now, he’s no less of a fan of the instant food, but he’s been consistent in making two portions of food ever since you came. he stores them away in the fridge because of the heat, but he had always assumed that you would heat it up for your dinner.
but the ramen packets in the pantry slowly disappear, one by one, while the food he sets aside remains exactly where he left it. sometimes he finds himself opening the fridge in the morning and staring at the container for a second longer than necessary before closing the door again.
there was never a moment where he said help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge, and you never asked what the arrangement was supposed to be either. somewhere between the polite distance you keep and his own habit of not explaining things that feel obvious to him, the conversation simply never happened.
and for some reason, it pricks him just the tiniest bit that you never mentioned working late. he’s not blaming you but, because he doesn’t expect you to report your schedule to him or anything like that. but still, a little heads up would have been nice.
by the fourth day, he decides to address this issue.
it’s not really something worth making a big deal out of, and heeseung isn’t particularly eager to corner you into an awkward conversation over food, no less.
the sun dips lower behind the peach tree outside, the shadows stretching slowly across the backyard while the house sits in its usual quiet. he moves around the kitchen without committing to anything yet – washing a few vegetables, rinsing rice, then leaving it in the strainer while he leans against the counter.
normally by this time he would have already started cooking. dinner, for him, usually happens somewhere between eight and eight-thirty. tonight he lets the minutes pass instead.
he opens the fridge once, then closes it again. picks up his phone, scrolls for a few seconds, puts it down. at some point he drifts into the living room with his guitar, idly picking through a melody without really focusing on it. the notes fill the house softly before fading into the quiet again.
by the time it’s 8:45, he decides that he should at least start cooking. judging by the time you usually come home, he assumes you’ll be back by nine. normally when he cooks, his mind is somewhere else entirely – half on whatever melody he was working through earlier, half on the quiet routine of the evening. tonight it drifts somewhere else. because once the thought appears, it’s oddly hard to shake.
how do you usually go to work? do you take the bus home? do you walk all the way from the clinic? or the bus station? the town isn’t exactly built for late-night commuting. the bus routes thin out after evening hours, and the closest stop isn’t even particularly convenient. if you were taking the bus, you’d still have to walk a fair distance to reach the house.
and the clinic itself isn’t that close either. closer than the bus station, sure. but still far enough that walking back at night wouldn’t exactly be ideal. especially not after nine.
heeseung pauses briefly while stirring the pan, the question sitting there longer than he expects it to. he realizes, somewhat belatedly, that he has never actually asked. not once in the past week.
the thought makes him shift slightly where he stands at the stove, glancing absentmindedly toward the dark window above the sink. outside, the peach tree sways quietly in the night breeze, the branches barely visible now that the sky has turned fully dark, a waft of citrusy sweetness drifting faintly through the open window.
maybe you take a cab sometimes. or maybe someone from the clinic gives you a ride. both options sound reasonable enough, but neither of them feel particularly certain. and somehow that uncertainty lingers in the back of his mind while he finishes cooking.
by the time the food is ready, the clock on the microwave reads 8:58.
he turns the stove off and sets the pan aside, wiping his hands on a dish towel while glancing toward the front hallway without really meaning to. almost on cue, the front door opens.
the quiet click of the lock carries easily through the house, followed by the faint thud of the door closing. a second later there’s the soft shuffle of shoes being slipped off near the entrance.
he exhales quietly, not even realizing he’d been waiting for that sound. your footsteps move down the hallway a moment later, slower than usual.
when you step into the kitchen, you look a little surprised to see him still there.
“oh,” you say, blinking slightly. “you’re still up.”
“just finished cooking.” he nods toward the stove.
your gaze shifts toward the counter, noticing the two bowls sitting there. “…you didn’t have to wait.”
“i figured you’d be back soon.” he shrugs lightly.
you hesitate near the doorway, clearly a little unsure what to do with that information. “i was just going to make ramen,” you admit after a second.
“yeah,” he says simply. “i guessed.”
that earns a quiet, sheepish breath of laughter from you. you step into the kitchen properly now, setting your bag down by the chair. “sorry,” you say. “the clinic ran late again today.”
he nods once, but the question from earlier is still sitting in the back of his mind.
“so how do you usually get back?” he asks, gesturing vaguely toward the street outside. “from the clinic.”
you pause halfway to the counter. “oh. i usually walk.”
“all the way?” heeseung’s brows pull together slightly.
“it’s not that bad,” you say quickly, already sensing the direction of his reaction. “like… twenty minutes?”
“at nine in the night.”
you rub the back of your neck, clearly aware of how that sounds. “sometimes a little earlier.”
he exhales slowly through his nose. “that’s not great.”
“i’ve been fine,” you say, though it comes out a little more defensive than you probably intended. he doesn’t argue immediately. instead, he just reaches for the bowls and sets one down in front of you at the table.
“eat first,” he says. “we’ll figure the rest out later.”
you hesitate for a moment, but the smell of actual food – something that isn’t instant noodles – makes the decision easier. you sit down across from him, pushing your sleeves up slightly before picking up the chopsticks.
for a minute or two, the kitchen settles into a quiet rhythm again. the faint clink of chopsticks against bowls, the low hum of the refrigerator behind you, the occasional rustle of leaves outside the window where the peach tree sways in the dark.
halfway through the meal, heeseung glances up.
“you don’t eat breakfast either, do you?”
you pause mid-bite. “what?”
“in the mornings,” he says. “there’s never anything in the sink. no mugs or bowls. nothing.”
“…sometimes i grab something on the way.” your gaze drops immediately back to the rice in front of you.
“sometimes?” he raises an eyebrow slightly.
“it’s not a big deal,” you say quickly. “the clinic gets busy early, and i’m usually running late anyway. i’ll just grab something from the convenience store if i’m really hungry.”
“you don’t, though.” you glance up at him.
“you’re making a lot of assumptions for someone who’s never actually seen me in the morning.” this seems to shut him up, but he just chuckles in good spirit. he decides that your breakfast is a topic he would have to get back to later.
“so,” he says after a moment, tone casual. “how’s the internship going?”
you look up, visibly a little surprised by the question.
“it’s… good,” you say slowly. “busy.”
“ah really, what do you usually do?”
you seem to think about that for a second before answering.
“mostly routine stuff right now. cleaning wounds, assisting with checkups, helping restrain animals when the vet needs both hands free.” you shrug slightly. “nothing very glamorous.”
he nods, listening.
“but sometimes we get actual emergencies,” you add, warming up to the explanation a little. “someone brought in a cat that had gotten into a fight with a stray a few days ago. and yesterday there was this kid that fed his pet rabbit chocolate, and that’s not really good because rabbits have a sensitive digestive system and cannot process all that stuff. the kid was crying though, he looked like he thought he’d killed his pet.”
heeseung’s expression softens slightly at that. “was the rabbit fine?” he asks.
“yeah,” you say. “just had to keep it under observation for a bit.” you take another bite before continuing, the words coming a little more naturally now.
“most of the time it’s smaller things though. ear infections, small injuries, routine vaccinations… a lot of nervous owners. there was this really old dog today though. could barely walk. the owner still carries it everywhere.”
across the table, heeseung listens without interrupting. there’s a faint smile on his face, and a sudden pang of fondness reverberates through him. he misplaces it in the moment, brushing past the feeling before it can settle into anything he needs to examine.
he doesn’t jump in with questions every few sentences or try to steer the conversation somewhere else. mostly he just nods here and there, letting you fill the space however you want.
you stop after a moment, suddenly aware that you’ve been talking longer than intended.
“…sorry,” you mutter, pushing a piece of rice around your bowl with the tip of your chopsticks. “that was probably unnecessary detail.”
heeseung shakes his head lightly. “it’s fine.”
you glance up at him, a little uncertain if he’s just being polite, but the small smile on his face doesn’t look forced. the conversation dips into a small pause after that, the sound of chopsticks against bowls filling the space instead.
then you look up again.
“…how was your day?”
“you’re asking me?” heeseung blinks.
“well… yeah.”
“that might be the first time,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
you narrow your eyes immediately. “well, likewise.”
that earns a quiet laugh from him. “my day was normal,” he says after a moment. “worked most of the afternoon on some music.”
“oh yeah, i noticed the guitar in the living room. but i remember yunah saying that you play the piano…?”
heeseung glances up at that, following the direction your eyes briefly flick toward the living room before settling back on you. the question hangs between you for a moment, unfinished but clear enough. he doesn’t seem surprised by it. if anything, the corner of his mouth lifts a little, like the connection makes sense to him.
“yeah,” he says after a beat. “piano mostly.”
you nod, though your gaze drops back to your bowl almost immediately, as if realizing you might have revealed more than intended. mentioning yunah like that makes it sound like the two of you had talked about him more than casually, and the awareness of it seems to make you retreat slightly into yourself again. you poke at the rice with your chopsticks, shoulders drawing in just a little.
heeseung doesn’t comment on it. instead he leans back slightly in his chair, tone easy when he adds, “the guitar’s just something i keep around. easier to pick up when i’m working through ideas.”
by the time the bowls are empty, the kitchen has fallen into a comfortable sort of quiet again, the earlier conversation settling into the background like it had simply been another part of the evening. you stand first, gathering the bowls before he can reach for them.
“i can—” he starts.
“it’s fine,” you say quickly, already turning toward the sink. “you cooked.”
heeseung watches you for half a second, then gets up anyway, reaching for the other dishes still on the table. the two of you end up sharing the small space by the counter without really discussing it. you rinse the bowls while he stacks them beside the sink, the quiet rush of running water filling the kitchen.
for a while neither of you says much. after a minute, heeseung dries his hands on the dish towel and leans back lightly against the counter.
“so,” he says casually, like the thought had just crossed his mind again. “you said you walk back from the clinic. i’m not sure how i feel about that.”
all you can do is stare up at him. he’s leaning against the countertop, and you are mildly aware of the rubbery pink gloves on your hands and the fact that you’re standing barely a step away from him by the sink.
“it’s not that bad,” you say after a moment, turning back toward the dishes like the conversation might dissolve if you don’t face it directly. “like i said, it’s only about twenty minutes.” you rinse the bowl in your hands a little more aggressively than necessary.
“it doesn’t matter if it's five minutes away, i wouldn’t want my own sister walking alone that late at night.”
heeseung watches the hesitation flicker across your face for a second before speaking again, tone still calm. “you could take the car.”
“the car?” you blink.
he nods toward the front of the house, like it’s the most obvious solution in the world.
“it mostly just sits outside anyway.” the suggestion hangs in the air for a moment before the realization hits you properly. your ears warm almost immediately.
“oh.” you glance away, suddenly very interested in the dish towel folded beside the sink. “…i don’t know how to drive.”
talk about losing aura points. well, it's not like not knowing how to drive makes you any less of a functioning adult. plenty of people get by perfectly fine without it. still, saying it out loud like that – especially in response to a solution that had sounded so simple in his head – makes the admission feel embarrassingly small.
you keep your attention fixed on the sink, fiddling with the edge of the glove you’ve already taken off. in your favor, heeseung doesn’t laugh at you. nor does he make it a big deal, instead already offering the next possible solution.
“okay,” he says after a second. you glance up briefly, a little wary of what comes next.
“i can just pick you up.” the words land so plainly that it takes you a moment to process them.
“you don’t have to do that,” you say quickly.
“it’s not a big deal.”
“it kind of is,” you reply, turning fully toward him now. “you shouldn’t have to drive across town every night just because i can’t figure out transportation.”
heeseung tilts his head slightly, considering that. “then take the bus.”
“i’ll still have to walk from the bus station,” you frown. surely, he knew that? he drove you from there the first day.
“well uhm,” heeseung, oddly clears his throat sheepishly, “if you’re not comfortable with me picking you up from the clinic, i can pick you up from the bus stop.”
you blink at him, and for a moment you actually pause to consider what he just said. the way he had cleared his throat before offering the alternative, the slightly awkward phrasing of it – it clicks into place a second later: he thinks you’re uncomfortable with him picking you up from the clinic itself.
your brows knit together faintly.
“oh—no, that’s not what i meant,” you say quickly, the words coming out a little more hurried than you intended. you turn halfway toward him, one hand still resting on the edge of the sink as you shake your head. “that’s not… the issue here.”
heeseung straightens slightly where he’s standing beside the counter, confusion flickering across his face. one brow lifts as he studies you for a second, clearly trying to follow the shift in your reasoning.
“it’s not?” he asks, the question drawn out just slightly, like he’s giving you space to explain.
you let out a small breath and push a stray strand of hair back behind your ear, already feeling the faint embarrassment creeping up your neck.
“no,” you say, a little more carefully now. “i mean—it's not like i’d be uncomfortable if you picked me up from the clinic. that’s not what i was trying to say.”
he watches you for a second, clearly trying to follow the shift in your reasoning.
you glance away toward the counter, suddenly aware of how this whole conversation must sound from the outside. him offering solutions one after another while you keep rejecting them.
“it’s just…” you hesitate, searching for the right way to phrase it. “i didn’t want to impose any more than i already am.”
“i’m already staying here for six months,” you continue, your voice a little quieter now. “that’s a pretty big favor as it is. and now you’re offering to drive across town every night on top of that. it just feels like… a lot.”
the explanation settles between you. for a moment heeseung doesn’t say anything. instead, he looks at you with a faint tilt to his head, like he’s trying to line up your logic with the situation in front of him. the silence stretches just long enough for you to start wondering if you somehow made the whole thing more awkward than necessary.
he then exhales quietly through his nose, the sound almost like a soft laugh he doesn’t fully let out. one shoulder lifts in a small shrug as he pushes himself off the counter, clearly unconvinced by the logic you’ve laid out.
“if anything happened to you,” he says after a moment, tone matter-of-fact in a way that almost sounds like he’s thinking aloud, “yunah would absolutely kill me. i’m serious. she’d call me from across the country just to yell first, then probably get on the next train here to finish the job herself.” the corner of his mouth lifts faintly at the image, though the point underneath it is clearly genuine. “so for my own sake, i’m not really willing to risk that.”
you blink at him, the tension that had built up in your shoulders loosening despite yourself.
“that feels a little dramatic,” you mutter, though there’s a hint of reluctant amusement in your voice now.
“have you met my sister?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, the question carrying just enough dry humor that it pulls a quiet huff of laughter out of you.
the moment settles again after that, but before you can say anything else, he adds almost as an afterthought, his tone shifting back into something calmer and more straightforward.
“besides,” he says, glancing briefly toward the dark window over the sink before looking back at you, “i’d worry if i let you walk home alone this late too.”
you look down at the edge of the sink, fiddling absentmindedly with the cuff of the glove still on your hand. it's not like you’re forcing him to do this. but despite his insistence, you’re torn; because his reason is valid but you stand by what you said about not wanting to impose.
still, the hesitation sits stubbornly in your chest. because agreeing feels like accepting more help than you’re comfortable with.
“i mean… i get what you’re saying,” you say after a moment, your voice quieter now as you pull the glove off your hand and set it beside the sink. “and i’m not trying to be difficult about it. it’s just—”
“you’re assuming this is some huge inconvenience for me.”
you blink at that. “…isn’t it?”
heeseung shakes his head once, pushing away from the counter again to rinse the last plate still sitting in the sink.
“not really,” he says, running the dish briefly under the water before setting it in the rack. “i’m usually still up around that time anyway.”
you watch him for a second, unsure whether he’s just saying that to make the offer sound easier to accept. he notices the look and lets out a small breath through his nose.
“i’m serious,” he adds, glancing back at you over his shoulder. “half the time i’m still working on music at night. driving ten minutes to pick someone up isn’t exactly ruining my schedule.”
“if it makes you feel better,” he continues, “we can just… try it for a while. if it turns out to be annoying, we’ll figure something else out.”
you glance toward the window, where the dark outline of the peach tree sways faintly in the night breeze outside. then you look back at him.
“…alright,” you say slowly. “for a while.”
heeseung nods once, like that’s all he needed to hear. “good.”
part four.
when you had first hesitated to let heeseung pick you up after work, he had immediately understood that you were probably not someone who was used to asking for help.
that paired with yunah’s occasional description of you being the ‘reliable one’ in your friend group
that impression had only been reinforced by the way yunah occasionally talked about you—the “reliable one” in your friend group, the person who kept track of deadlines, remembered small details, and generally held things together when everyone else got overwhelmed.
at the time, heeseung had only nodded along to those descriptions over the phone. but a few weeks into living under the same roof, he finds that they line up almost perfectly with the person he sees moving quietly through the house every day.
you are capable in that careful, self-contained way that makes it difficult to tell when you’re struggling with something. you rarely ask for help outright. when something needs to be done, you tend to figure it out yourself first.
heeseung hadn’t pushed the issue beyond that conversation in the kitchen. but quietly, in his own way, he had made up his mind that some things didn’t need to be negotiated every single time.
so the rides simply… continued. at first you thanked him every night, then you thanked him every other night.
eventually the gratitude turned into a small nod and a quiet “hey” when you climbed into the passenger seat after work, and the drive home slipped into an easy rhythm neither of you commented on anymore.
sometimes the two of you talked in the car. sometimes you didn’t. the quiet was never particularly uncomfortable, mostly filled with small things – your stories from the clinic, the occasional comment about the weather, or the way the town seemed to settle earlier and earlier as summer deepened.
heeseung listened while driving, one hand resting lightly on the steering wheel as he let you talk. sometimes he asked a question or two, sometimes he just hummed in acknowledgement while you explained something about medication schedules or recovery treatments.
but it’s the weekends that start to feel different.
weekends are when you actually exist in the same space for longer than a few passing minutes.
the first few saturdays are quiet. you still keep mostly to yourself, settling on the living room couch with a stack of academic reading balanced on your lap while heeseung drifts in and out of the room doing his own things – working on music, tuning his guitar, occasionally disappearing into the kitchen.
you rarely interrupt each other. but gradually the silence changed.
instead of the careful quiet of two strangers trying not to intrude, it became the comfortable quiet of two people sharing space without needing to fill every minute with conversation.
heeseung found that he didn’t mind your presence at all. if anything, it was oddly grounding.
you had a way of existing in the room without demanding attention, flipping through pages of your notes with a focused concentration. every now and then you paused to underline something, or jot a quick comment in the margins, your brow furrowed like the page in front of you contained a problem you were determined to solve.
the only thing that regularly broke that concentration was the guitar. the instrument sat propped casually against the wall beside the bookshelf, exactly where he usually left it after playing. but every once in a while, when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, your gaze drifted toward it.
the first time he assumed you were just looking around the room. the second time he wondered if it was in the way. the third time, he set his notebook down.
“ do you play?”
your head snapped up from your reading immediately. the expression on your face made it look like you’d been caught doing something mildly embarrassing.
“oh—no,” you said quickly, shaking your head.
heeseung lets his gaze fall briefly to the guitar and then back to you, one eyebrow lifting slightly like he’s not entirely convinced by how quickly you dismissed the idea.
“you’ve been looking at it,” he points out, not accusingly, just stating a fact.
your eyes flick back to the instrument for half a second before returning to your notes, though the page you had been reading clearly no longer has your attention. you let out a quiet breath through your nose.
“i mean,” you say slowly, closing the notebook over your finger to hold your place, “i don’t play. i’ve just… always wanted to learn, i guess.”
the admission sounds a little sheepish once it’s out loud, like something that should have stayed a passing thought instead of turning into an actual statement. heeseung tilts his head slightly.
“how come you didn’t?” you shrug, though the gesture is smaller than usual.
“i was a very academically focused child,” you say, the words carrying that faintly self-aware tone people use when they know the explanation sounds a little absurd in hindsight. “music lessons and hobbies and all that stuff always ended up becoming… optional whenever exams were around. and there were always exams around.”
he hums quietly at that, leaning back into the couch as he considers the answer. it’s not said with any bitterness, just the matter-of-fact explanation of someone who had accepted that trade-off a long time ago.
“and now?” he asks after a moment. you hesitate just long enough that the answer becomes obvious before you even say it.
“…now i’m still academically focused,” you admit, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.
that draws a quiet laugh out of him, the sound easy and unforced.
“well,” he says, glancing toward the guitar again before pushing himself up from the couch, “that sounds like a fixable problem.”
you watch him cross the room, momentarily confused about where the conversation is going. when he reaches the bookshelf and lifts the guitar off the floor, the realization dawns slowly. your eyebrows shoot up.
“oh, no.”
heeseung turns back toward you with the instrument already resting against his hip, looking mildly amused by your reaction.
“what?”
“you’re not serious.”
“why not?”
you stare at him like he just suggested something completely unreasonable.
“i didn’t mean right now,” you say, sitting up a little straighter on the couch. “i meant like… theoretically. in the future. maybe.”
he glances at the clock on the wall, then back at you. “it’s a saturday evening."
“and?”
“and you’ve been reading the same three pages for the last fifteen minutes,” he replies calmly. you open your mouth to deny it, then stop when you realize he’s probably right. the notebook slides a little further down your lap as you exhale.
heeseung doesn’t argue. instead he disappears briefly into the kitchen and returns a moment later with two tall glasses of iced tea, condensation already forming on the outside of the glass.
“come outside,” he says, nudging the back door open with his shoulder before you can object further.
the yard is washed in late afternoon sunlight, the warmth of the day still lingering in the air even though the breeze has picked up slightly. the peach tree stands near the center of the yard, its wide branches casting a patch of cool shade across the grass.
heeseung sets the glasses down near the base of the tree and lowers himself against the trunk with the kind of familiarity that suggests he sits there often.
you linger near the doorway for a second before stepping out after him, the grass soft under your feet.
the shade under the peach tree is noticeably cooler. leaves rustle quietly overhead, the filtered sunlight shifting across the ground whenever the breeze moves through the branches.
you settle down across from him, crossing your legs loosely as you pick up one of the glasses. the iced tea is cold enough that the first sip makes you sigh a little without meaning to.
heeseung notices, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. the afternoon feels slow.
“i’m going to be terrible.” you say without any prefix, but heeseung already knows what you meant.
“definitely.”
“that’s not very encouraging.”
he laughs, and it's the same effortless, breathy tenor that you’ve started to grow familiar to, over the past few weeks. it carries easily through the shade of the peach tree before fading into the rustling of leaves overhead.
“i don’t expect you to be good right off the bat. it’s like asking a kid to spell out words when they don’t even know the alphabet.”
you hesitate, but eventually you reach forward and lift it carefully into your lap.
your hands are a little tentative at first, fingers hovering uncertainly above the strings while heeseung leans forward slightly to show you where to place them.
“here,” he says, gently tapping the fretboard. “try pressing down there.”
you follow the motion, pressing your fingertips down where he indicates, though the position immediately feels unnatural. the strings resist slightly under the pressure, thin metal lines digging into the pads of your fingers in a way that makes you instinctively want to pull back. for a moment you hover there, unsure whether you’re even doing it correctly.
“am i supposed to press this hard?” you ask, glancing up at him.
heeseung shifts a little closer, resting one elbow on his knee so he can see the fretboard properly. from this angle he can clearly see the way your fingers are pressing down almost too cautiously, like you’re worried about damaging the instrument.
it’s almost cute, the way you glance up at him as if you’re worried you’d damage the instrument itself.
“you can press harder, it's not going to break,” he says, reaching forward and adjusting the position of your index finger by a fraction. his touch is light, just a quick correction against your knuckle before he pulls his hand back.
“well—what if i do break something?”
“you won’t.”
you huff softly at that but look back down at the fretboard anyway, concentrating again. the last rays from the dying sun filter through the peach leaves overhead and break into blurry shifting patterns across the grass and the guitar’s polished wood, brightening and fading every time the breeze stirs the branches.
from where he sits against the trunk, heeseung can see the way the light catches along the curve of the instrument in your lap and along your hands as you try to reposition your fingers. the air under the tree smells faintly sweet – unripe peaches and warm grass, the citrusy edge of the fruit mingling with the slow warmth of the afternoon.
you’re not paying much attention to that, though. your entire focus is still on the fretboard.
from where he sits, leaning back against the trunk of the peach tree, heeseung can see the way your shoulders draw inward when you concentrate, the small crease that forms between your brows when something isn’t cooperating the way you want it to. it’s the same expression you wear when you’re hunched over your notes in the living room.
this time though, he leans a little closer so he can guide your fingers more precisely along the fretboard. his hand hovers near yours for a moment, the warmth of his palm brushing the back of your fingers as he gently nudges them into place.
the strings press beneath your fingertips, biting faintly at the pads of your fingers, but with his guidance, the position begins to feel just a little less foreign.
you glance up almost unconsciously, trying to read his expression as you adjust your fingers. and then you notice the way the dying sunlight catches the strands of his hair. long and soft, the auburn tones gleaming almost coppery in the late light, each lock falling naturally over his forehead and around his face. a few strands stick slightly to his temple where a faint bead of sweat has formed from the warm evening, but it only makes him look more real, more present, more immediate.
for a split second, the concentrated weight of your focus on the chord shifts as you find yourself watching the way the light moves across the curve of his hair, how the shadows play across his sharp jawline and the slight tilt of his head as he leans closer to adjust your finger again. the breeze stirs, lifting a few strands and making them dance just above his eyes, brushing lightly against his temple – and that brief moment is all it takes to make you want to yeet yourself out of existence.
heeseung chooses that moment to glance down at you, and your eyes meet his for a moment longer than necessary. he notices the small widening of your eyes, the faint catch in your breath, the way your lips part slightly as if you’re about to speak but decide against it. for a beat, he’s acutely aware of the cool breeze, the soft rustling of the peach leaves above, the earthy scent of grass and fruit mingling with the faint musk of him.
but you pull away just as suddenly, a somewhat decent strum of guitar breaking the moment. heeseung leans away too, but when you glance up again, catching his gaze briefly before quickly looking back down at the chord, heeseung can see the faint flush across your cheeks, the way your eyes flick to his for reassurance just before you force your attention back onto the strings.
whatever that had been…he chooses to ignore it for the moment. for your sake and his, and it's slightly easy to do so when he watches the way your lips tug up in a smile when you get a chord right.
by the time the sun has completely disappeared, and the porch lights shine brightly, you’ve managed a few more chords, still fumbling but steadily more confident. heeseung watches the way your fingers move across the strings, occasionally offering small corrections with his quiet, precise gestures. you laugh softly at one particularly awkward strum, the sound carrying through the air like it belongs there. heeseung smiles too, though it’s tempered with a quiet amusement.
the iced tea glasses are half empty, condensation pooling on the grass. heeseung catches your gaze again and offers a small nod, almost imperceptible, as if to say you’re doing fine.
eventually, the guitar comes to rest in your lap, and you both sit in the shade quietly.
“so,” he began casually, voice cutting through the quiet, “how’s it going at the clinic lately? are you enjoying your internship so far?”
“busy, as usual,” you said. then, without thinking too much, your words spilled out. “actually… there’s this kitten. he was born premature, so they put him under observation, and i’m sort of… his primary caregiver. i’ve been feeding him, keeping him warm, making sure he doesn’t get too stressed. he’s so tiny, heeseung… barely bigger than my hand.”
there was a short pause. you glanced up and found him watching you more intently than usual. “what’s his name?”
“miso,” you say fondly, “he’s so small, fragile, but somehow he’s got this attitude, like he’s already ready to take on the world.” your voice softened, almost like you were talking to yourself.
heeseung leaned back against the tree, tilting his head, “why did you choose this field?” his voice had a soft curiosity, like he genuinely wanted to understand.
you fiddled with a loose string on the guitar, letting your fingers trace it absentmindedly. “i… i don’t know, really. i like being able to do something that actually matters, i guess..” you glanced up briefly, letting your gaze drift to the fading light before looking back down. “and… my mom, she—she expects me to do more. be more. not that she doesn’t think this matters… but i guess she thinks i could do something bigger. something more… impressive.” you exhaled softly, the words hanging between the two of you, fragile, unclaimed.
heeseung didn’t say anything right away, just tilted his head and listened, giving you the space to say more if you wanted. when you don't, he offers a small, understanding nod and leans back on his elbows, stretching comfortably. you follow suit, lying back on the grass for a few moments to feel the warmth of the earth, the soft rustle of the branches, and the faintly sweet scent of the fruit.
you lay under the big tree, watching the peach fruits hovering above you and something about wanting to bite into the sweet fruits on a hot day makes your mouth water.
“when do you think these will be ready to eat?” you ask, tilting your head so the breeze lifts stray strands of hair from your face. the question feels almost silly, but the anticipation in your chest is real, the kind of simple craving that hits on a summer night.
heeseung shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow and following your gaze. his hand idly brushes against the grass as he talks. “a few weeks, probably,” he says thoughtfully. “they’ve got a way to go before they’re soft enough to bite into. but…,” he glances at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “the wait makes it worth it.”
you hum softly, imagining the burst of sweet juice when they finally ripen. “i didn’t even know peaches could smell like this before they’re ripe,” you murmur, inhaling through your nose. “it’s… kind of intoxicating.”
heeseung chuckles, a low, warm sound that blends easily with the rustling of leaves. “yeah, yunah and i used to spend summers picking them when they were just starting to turn more vibrant. yunah was always faster than me, she had this way of climbing up on the lower branches like it was nothing, grabbing the best ones before i even got there. i’d end up running around the tree, trying to reach the ones that hadn’t been taken yet.”
you grin, imagining the scene, the two of them darting among the branches while the sun warmed their skin. “that sounds exactly like yunah.”
the laugh that bubbles out of your chest at the thought lands warmly in his ears.
heeseung shrugs, settling back again, eyes drifting toward the boughs above. “yeah, it’s nice… it’s kind of like having a little corner of the world where you can just… be.”
you follow his gaze, catching the faint shimmer of the guitar leaning against him. “i like that,” you admit, and the words feel lighter than the usual weight of daily life. “it feels like… summer should feel.”
heeseung grins, letting the warmth of the moment linger, fingers tapping lightly against the grass as he watches the sunlight drift through the leaves. “then we’ll just have to enjoy it while it lasts,” he says, and in that easy way he has.
the peach tree stands over you both, its leaves whispering softly in the breeze, the warm air carrying the faint scent of fruit and grass, and for a long, perfect moment, it feels like the world has slowed down just for this quiet night.
part five.
by the time the first month ends and the second is well underway, your days have begun to overlap in ways that feel natural, even inevitable.
evenings become a shared habit. movies now stretch late into the night. you curl up on the couch with a blanket, heeseung beside you with the guitar resting on the armrest. sometimes he strums quietly during quiet moments, just enough for the hum of strings to fill the room without pulling focus. you let your head fall back against the cushions and realize, for the first time in a long time, that you don’t have to be productive every second.
but he notices when you’ve been hunched over your books too long. the crease between your brows, the way your fingers tap idly against the table after too many minutes of writing, and he doesn’t hesitate. “get your ass off that chair,” he says one afternoon, a teasing lilt in his voice, “five hours straight, and for what? the chair doesn’t deserve this.”
breakfast is its own kind of battleground. heeseung starts waking earlier, slipping quietly into the kitchen to fry eggs or toast bread before your alarm even goes off. you protest, embarrassed, insisting that you don’t need the fuss. but he doesn’t back down. “i’m not asking,” he says with that tilt of his head that’s impossible to argue with. “you’re not allowed to skip
you catch him once on a monday morning in the kitchen, straight out of bed, eyes still squinting against the harsh light and hair sticking up in all directions as he stands over the countertop cutting a watermelon into neat little cubes.
you feel a pang of guilt at the sight and you really do protest against this new disruption to his summer. so you clear your throat, trying to sound stern but failing because the smell of fresh watermelon and warm toast fills the kitchen and makes your stomach rumble anyway. “heeseung, you really don’t have to—”
“don’t have to do what?” he asks, voice still rough from just waking up, “make sure you don’t survive on coffee and ramen? because trust me, you’re terrible at it.”
“i’m an adult,” you protest weakly, already knowing it’s futile. heeseung tilts his head, knife poised above the watermelon, eyes sparkling with that teasing warmth that makes arguing impossible.
you huff, crossing your arms half-heartedly, but your stomach chooses that very moment to betray you with a low, impatient growl. heeseung notices without even looking up, tilting his head slightly in that way that makes it clear he’s enjoying the small victory. “hear that?” he says casually, gesturing toward your rumbling stomach with the tip of his knife. “that’s your body talking. it’s literally asking me to make breakfast for you.”
and that is the end of it. pretty much like how he had somehow made himself indispensable to your every day routine, heeseung finds how easy it is to let you be a part of his own.
sure, there are days when you’re too tired and fall asleep on the short car ride home, and on those nights you don’t even have it in yourself to have dinner, so he lets you go straight to bed, but with only a slight worry niggling at his mind on the way you look absolutely drained.
you’ve told him on many occasions that you enjoy what you do, that being surrounded by all those little animals makes your day, but some days you have house calls, and those are the days that get too tiring for you, though you’ve never quite made any mention of that particular predicament. because even heeseung can see the way you seem happy and satisfied at the end of the week, as if you’ve let yourself enjoy the satisfaction of having done a good job.
the new dynamic between you settles like a rhythm in his life. he nags just enough to make sure you’re not burning yourself out, teases enough to get a smile or a groan, makes meals, packs lunches. and you, without realizing it, have become part of his routine, just as he has become part of yours. there’s a strange, unspoken ease in it, a balance that neither of you ever named but both of you live in.
heeseung shakes his head, laughing softly to himself. maybe he’s taken on the role of the elder brother, the caretaker, the one who makes sure you survive and thrive in these small, domestic ways. but he doesn’t mind. in fact, he likes it. liking it, he reminds himself, doesn’t come with obligations. and he thinks that maybe this is how he wants these weeks to feel.
then comes the fateful day that you've left your lunch behind in a rush to start housecalls, your bag empty except for your notes.
heeseung only notices it about ten minutes after you’ve already left.
he’s rinsing the pan from breakfast when his eyes fall on the familiar container sitting neatly on the kitchen counter, the one he’d packed just a few minutes earlier – rice, grilled chicken, and the sliced fruit he’d tucked in on the side because he’d noticed you liked something sweet after meals. the lid is clipped shut, exactly the way he left it.
he stares at it for a second. “…you’ve got to be kidding me.”
a quiet laugh escapes him as he wipes his hands on a towel. of course you forgot it. you’d been rushing around that morning, half awake, flipping through your notes while fixing your hair with your fingers.
he glances at the clock. if he leaves now, he can probably still catch you before you head out again.
he grabs the container, drops it into a small paper bag, and reaches for his keys without thinking too hard about it.
the clinic waiting room is busier than usual when he steps inside.
there’s a soft chorus of anxious pets – one dog whining somewhere near the chairs, a cat meowing irritably from inside a carrier, the faint jingle of leashes and tags every time someone shifts in their seat. the air smells faintly of disinfectant and fur.
heeseung pauses just inside the doorway, scanning the room.
you appear from the hallway a moment later, flipping through a small clipboard while. you don’t notice him at first.
“hey.” your head snaps up. for a second you just blink at him like he’s appeared out of thin air.
“heeseung?” you say, completely thrown. “what are you doing here?”
he lifts the paper bag slightly. “you forgot this.”
you stare at the bag. then at him, then back at the bag again. you take it from him, looking only mildly horrified. he already knows what’s going on in your head, you’re probably already droning on about how you’ve ‘inconvenienced’ him again.
heeseung shrugs, that lazy, infuriatingly calm gesture that somehow makes him look completely unbothered. “it’s fine,” he says lightly, though the slight lift of his eyebrows betrays that tiny spark of amusement. “i figured you’d need it.”
you fumble with the straps of your bag, cheeks heating up as your brain scrambles for words. “i—i didn’t mean to—”
“you didn’t mean to forget your lunch,” he interrupts softly, leaning against the wall with that effortless ease he always seems to have, “but here we are. you’ve got it now. problem solved.”
your mouth opens, then closes again, flustered, because honestly, what do you even say to that? heeseung just watches you, the corner of his lips twitching in a way that tells you he’s enjoying every second of your internal chaos.
an elderly woman sits there with a small fluffy dog perched in her lap, watching the two of you with open delight.
“that’s a good boyfriend right there,” she continues cheerfully, gesturing toward heeseung. “driving over just to bring you lunch? my word.”
you freeze, cheeks heating up in a way that almost feels painful. your hands clutch the bag a little tighter, eyes darting between heeseung and the old woman, completely at a loss. “wha—no, we’re not—”
heeseung tilts his head, suppressing a smile as he glances at you. his hand drifts just slightly toward yours, brushing against your skin, enough to ground you in the absurdity of the moment. “ignore her,” he says quietly, tone calm and teasing all at once. “she’s old. loves to talk.”
the woman beams at you knowingly, tapping her dog lightly on the head. “don’t even try to deny it, dear. he would make a good husband, this one, driving over with your lunch like that.”
your hands tighten instinctively on the paper bag, clutching it as if it could shield you from the embarrassment radiating through the waiting room. you open your mouth to protest, but words falter halfway.
the thing about living with heeseung was that you had definitely been more than aware of the way you had grown reliant on his presence. and to be quite honest, you weren’t sure that realization made you feel comforted or alarmed.
your fingers flexed around the paper bag again, the lunch inside a small, mundane thing, yet it carried the weight of weeks of routines you hadn’t even realized you’d let yourself lean on. you’d always managed on your own, always prided yourself on being self-sufficient, and yet now, looking at him standing there with that lazy, teasing grin, the sight both unsettled and relieved you. relief that someone actually noticed the small ways you let yourself be stretched thin, that someone would quietly step in without making you beg or admit you needed it.
you met his eyes briefly, and for a moment, it felt almost dizzying; the way he seemed calm, certain, and entirely unconcerned by how flustered you were. how had it been so easy to let him handle the little things, and why was it so disorienting to realize you didn’t want to argue with it anymore?
“i… uh…” you started, your voice small, faltering, unsure of what you could even say. the words didn’t come, so you just lifted the bag slightly toward him, a silent acknowledgment.
heeseung’s grin softened, just a little, seeing that hesitation. “hey,” he said quietly, “it’s fine. really. i don’t mind. i like doing it.”
you swallowed hard, and suddenly the embarrassment and warmth coiled together in your chest, a strange mix of self-consciousness and relief. for all your protests, for all your insistence that you could manage on your own, you realized just how much having someone really, truly look out for you mattered.
you’d never let anyone in like this before – not so openly nor unconditionally – and it made you dizzy in a way you weren’t sure you could name.
“um… thanks,” you finally managed, voice quiet, almost lost beneath the murmur of pets and people in the waiting room.
heeseung’s grin softened, catching the subtle nuance in your voice. “you don’t need to thank me,” he said, tilting his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. “someone has to make sure you don’t starve yourself, right?”
your cheeks warmed again, heat creeping up your neck, and you looked down at the bag, letting the words settle.
he was just being nice, like he had always been. and it's a sentiment you find yourself wanting to believe, except when it happens, you’re left feeling confused, because the very next thing heeseung does is to crouch slightly to meet your level, one hand reaching out almost reflexively to ruffle your hair.
“can’t have you starving on my watch, yunah would kill me, literally.” he says with a half-smile, almost like it’s an afterthought, as if you’re just part of a checklist of things he’s supposed to look out for.
and he’s said this before of course, it had been one of the reasons he had cited when it had been decided that he would pick you up in the evenings. so, if this was something you were already aware of, why does it leave you feeling so strangely off-kilter now?
because you know exactly what he means.
you tug at your sleeves, glancing down at the floor, trying to make sense of the twist in your chest. there’s a small, undeniable pinch of… something. disappointment, maybe. confusion, definitely. you want to tell yourself it doesn’t matter, but the feeling refuses to be dismissed so neatly.
and while the logic in your head says it’s purely circumstantial – he’s yunah’s brother, he’s supposed to be responsible – it clashes with the way your chest tightens at the smallest touch, at the easy way he crosuches down just to ruffle your hair.
you blink up at him, half-expecting him to notice the sudden tension, but he’s already straightening, sliding a little distance back, smile returning, pretending nothing has changed. heeseung makes it so natural, so effortless, that you’re left grappling with your own reaction in silence.
“thanks,” you murmur finally, voice small and uncertain.
heeseung smiles again, before taking off, leaving you standing there in the middle of the clinic, clutching the bag of lunch to your chest like a prized possession. and if anyone were to ask you what had just happened, you wouldn’t be able to put it into words, not really.
heeseung for his part, is blissfully unaware of the chaos he has let loose in your mind, humming softly to himself as he steps out into the warm sunlight outside the clinic. in his head, it’s a simple, almost mundane action.
at least, that’s what it is now. because it’ll be a while before he would be able to admit to himself, that the care he has for you, comes from a place deeper in his chest, where the intricacies of friendship and adoration and something unnamed swirl together so tightly that even he can’t quite untangle them yet.
heeseung doesn’t know that the ordinary care he shows, the easy familiarity, is slowly weaving a thread between the two of you that neither of you can yet name. he doesn’t know that the quiet tug in his chest, the inexplicable pull whenever you’re near, is the beginning of something more. and he certainly doesn’t know that, even now, you’re beginning to feel it too – subtle, and hesitant – though neither of you has a word for it yet.
and somewhere back in the clinic, you’re trying to make sense of the flutter in your chest. you didn’t have a word for it yet, couldn’t quite place it in the neat boxes of “friend” or “yunah’s brother” that you’d always kept it in. but the way your stomach had twisted when his fingers brushed your hair, the way your eyes had unconsciously followed him as he disappeared into the sunlight… it lingered.
and even if you didn’t know it yet, that careful, unnoticed attention he gave you was slowly carving out a space in your heart that was quietly, irrevocably, beginning to belong to him.
part six.
the summer had gone from bearable to unbearable in what felt like the span of a week. the mornings still carried a faint softness, but by midday, the heat pressed against the house like a living thing, sticky and relentless. the air conditioning in your – yunah’s room – faithful until now, had decided to give up on a tuesday morning.
you woke to sticky skin and the uncomfortable feeling of warm sheets sticking to your even warmer body, and immediately knew: this was going to be a long, sweltering week.
heeseung noticed before you even had a chance to complain. you found him in the kitchen, shirt damp at the back from the heat, hands wrapped around a cold glass of water, frowning at you as though he could already read the sticky, exhausted air clinging to your skin.
“you okay?” he asked casually, though his sharp eyes betrayed concern.
“i’m fine,” you muttered, waving off the question. you didn’t want to admit that the heat had already begun to fray your nerves, but despite yourself, you decide to tell him anyway.
“uhh, the ac in my room stopped working last night i guess…?”
heeseung’s frown deepened just a fraction, a crease forming between his brows. he set the glass down carefully, hands lingering on the counter as he studied you. “oh shit, i’m sorry, i’ll get it looked at as soon as possible,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. then his gaze lifted, sharp and direct. “you can sleep in my room till then, i’ll take the couch.”
you blinked at him, caught off guard. “wait—what? no, that’s… that’s fine, really. i can deal with it. the couch is—”
“nope,” he interrupted smoothly, shaking his head, “i can survive on the couch, you should take my room. besides, the air conditioning works fine in the living room, so it’s not a bother.”
“then i’ll take the couch!” you protest, but you could already see that he had made the decision and it no surprise that you don’t stand a chance against it, but you still try, “heeseung, you can’t just sleep on the couch in your own house,” you said weakly, half-annoyed.
how is it that you keep being such a bother all the time.
heeseung tilted his head, that infuriating half-smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and leaned casually against the counter. “couch’s mine, bed’s yours.” he says with a finality.
you forced a scoff, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. internally, you were seething, mostly at yourself, but also annoyed at how he could just make these decisions and you wouldn’t really be able to argue.
by mid-morning, you were at the clinic, clipboard in hand, armed with a small spray bottle to mist the cats and dogs who were panting under the relentless sun. the heat had affected them just as much as the humans, and it made you ache a little to see them restless.
you moved between cages and carriers, offering water, adjusting blankets, and sometimes speaking softly to the pets, letting your voice act as a calm presence. a golden retriever wagged his tail so hard that his entire back end seemed to wiggle; you crouched to scratch behind his ears, muttering little encouragements.
somewhere along the day, you found yourself back at the isolation ward, heart thudding in a quieter rhythm, because today, thankfully, miso was doing well. he nuzzled against your fingers with a faint, satisfied purr, and you couldn’t help the relieved laugh that escaped, soft and breathy.
“you’ve been doing well, huh?” you murmured, brushing a gentle hand along his back. the fragile warmth of his tiny body pressed against your palm, and for a moment the chaos of the day fell away. a quiet kind of happiness you hadn’t allowed yourself in days bloomed in your chest.
checking his vitals was almost routine now, but the ease with which he let you handle him, the way he responded to your voice, made you feel a little braver. you adjusted his blanket, whispered reminders to stay cozy, and even teased him about his stubborn little stretches. “don’t get too comfortable,” you said softly. “you’ve got a long life ahead of you.”
you stayed longer than necessary, watching him, counting his breaths and finding some strange comfort in the rhythm. when it was finally time to leave, you lingered at the incubator one last time, pressing a hand against the glass. “see you later, miso,” you whispered, and the kitten responded with a tiny, satisfied squeak. the corners of your lips curved into a small, genuine smile as you stood back, today, at least, you’d made a difference.
by the time you were out of the clinic, it was already 8:30. the streetlights glowed softly, casting long shadows across the pavement. you had obviously fallen into the routine of letting heeseung pick you up from the bus stop, but tonight you’re met with the sight of his car parked right out front and his lean frame leaning against the hood as his eyes scanned the few people leaving the clinic.
your stomach did a weird little flip. “he—heeseung?” you said, half incredulous, half flustered. you hadn’t expected this, you thought the heat was making you hallucinate.
heeseung straightened at the sound of your voice, pushing off the hood casually, though there was a faint grin tugging at his lips. “surprise, i was actually on my way to the grocery store and thought… if you weren’t too tired, you might want to join me.”
suddenly the tiredness that had seeped into your bones earlier was suddenly replaced by a curious energy, a mix of surprise and something warmer, softer that fluttered uncomfortably in your chest.
“yeah sure, of course i’ll come along.” you hoped desperately that you did not sound too eager saying that.
heeseung’s grin widened just a fraction as he opened the passenger door for you. “great. i promise i won’t make you carry anything heavy… unless you want to show off your superhuman strength.”
you laughed softly, the sound lighter than it had been all day, and slid into the seat. the familiar smell of the car and faint traces of his cologne hit you harder tonight, and you felt your pulse quicken without quite knowing why. heeseung started the engine, the quiet hum filling the space between you, and for a moment, the city felt suspended, the sticky heat of the day falling away behind the car’s air-conditioned comfort.
“so… miso was really good today,” you began before you could stop yourself, leaning slightly toward the window to let a cool breeze hit your flushed cheeks. “he was nuzzling my hand when i checked on him, i don’t how i’ll be able to part with him, oh but i do so want him to get better soon.”
heeseung listens to your little spiel, the smile on his lips a natural occurrence at this point whenever he hears you talk. he sometimes think of the first week you had met him and how absolutely quiet you had been – words measured and careful, like you were testing the waters before letting anyone in. and now… to see you share about your day on your own, the way your hands gestured slightly… it made something in his chest tighten in a way that was both gentle and insistent.
heeseung kept his eyes on the road, the soft hum of the engine filling the space. “sounds like he’s got you wrapped around his…paws.”
you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “yeah. i don’t know, it just felt… nice, seeing him so calm for once.” you looked out the window, feeling the night air drift in through the slightly cracked vent. “it’s easy with animals. they don’t complicate things.”
he can only hum in response, unsure of how to respond to that – not because he doesn’t care, but because he genuinely doesn’t know what to say without breaking the quiet rhythm of the moment.
the automatic doors of the tiny grocery store slid open with a faint whoosh, the bright, artificial light washing over you both as you stepped inside. heeseung was already pushing the cart, humming a low, lazy tune under his breath.
you wandered down the produce aisle first, picking up some bananas and inspecting carefully. beside you, heeseung almost comically slaps a watermelon to inspect it, drawing a snort of laughter from you.
“this is how you test whether they’re ripe!” he protests at your giggles, but the look of genuinity on his face makes you clutch your stomach as you laugh harder.
heeseung grinned at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself, and gave the watermelon a mock bow. “thank you, thank you. i live to educate the masses.”
you shook your head, still laughing softly, and tucked the bananas into the cart. heeseung moved ahead a few steps to the next aisle, glancing back over his shoulder. you noticed the way his t-shirt stretched slightly across his broad shoulders and – oh. that sudden, almost electric jolt in your chest made you pause mid-step, your hand frozen in the air over a bag of apples. you blinked, shaking your head slightly, trying to dismiss the suddenness of the moment.
heeseung hummed softly, probably oblivious to the short circuit you’d just experienced, and turned to pick up some onions. you followed at a slightly more cautious distance, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement he made.
it was ridiculous, really.
you’d known he was… objectively attractive the first time you met him. anyone with functioning eyesight could see that. but that had been filed away neatly under yunah’s brother, under person you happen to be living with for the summer, under nice guy who makes breakfast and nags you about eating actual meals – safe categories.
none of those categories involved the strange way your stomach had just flipped because he turned a corner in a grocery store aisle.
you grabbed a bag of apples mostly so your hands had something to do. ahead of you, heeseung crouched slightly to grab something from the lower shelf. the movement pulled the fabric of his shirt taut across his back again, the line of his shoulders shifting as he stood up. your brain, traitorous thing that it was, chose that exact moment to catalogue the fact that he was… broad.
you blinked again, quickly looking away before he could turn around. get it together.
you trailed behind him through the next aisle, only half paying attention to what he was tossing into the cart. pasta. a carton of eggs. something in a glass jar that clinked softly when it landed beside the bananas.
“do we need milk?” he asked over his shoulder. you startled slightly, realizing he’d been talking to you.
“uh— yeah. yeah, probably.”
he nodded and pushed the cart toward the refrigerated section. for the most part, the rest of the trip blurred together. not because nothing was happening, but because your brain seemed determined to loop back to the same unhelpful thought every few seconds.
your thoughts kept circling the same thing; the mornings when he’d woken up early to make breakfast, the way he’d throw a blanket over you if you fell asleep on the couch with a book open on your chest, the way he would angle the table fan toward you without saying anything when the heat got unbearable.
you hadn’t thought much about it before. it had just… become normal. part of the routine of living here. but now, standing in the middle of a grocery store aisle watching him frown over the ripeness of fruits, you had a brief, unsettling realization.
you liked it.
you liked the way he looked out for you, you liked the way he teased you just enough to make you roll your eyes, you liked the easy rhythm that had somehow formed between the two of you over the past weeks. you frowned at a bag of chips you’d been staring at for too long.
he was just being nice to you though. if you started assuming your feelings on the basis of that, you’d only be setting yourself up for disappointment.
you shifted the bag of chips in your hand, then put it back on the shelf like you’d never picked it up in the first place.
people were nice all the time. it didn’t have to mean anything. heeseung was just… like that. easygoing. thoughtful. none of that had anything to do with you specifically. you can’t go…falling for every second person that was nice to you. right?
“are you planning to buy that or stare it into submission?” heeseung’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts.
you blinked, realizing you’d been standing in front of the same shelf for far too long.
“what?” you said dumbly.
he was leaning one arm over the handle of the cart now, watching you with mild amusement, a pack of instant noodles dangling loosely from his other hand. as if sensing the teasing comment coming, you hastily toss it into the cart. he chuckles under his breath and turns into the next aisle.
you followed, still trying to quiet the restless little voice in the back of your mind that kept replaying the same realization. suddenly you willed your eyes to look anywhere but at his broad back and his stupidly soft-looking hair.
it didn’t help that he had just pushed his hand through it a second ago, absentmindedly, ruffling the strands in a way that made them fall messily back into place.
this is stupid.
heeseung was just… heeseung. yunah’s brother. your ride to and from the bus stop. the guy who made breakfast like it was a personal mission and nagged you about eating actual meals. it’s normal to be touched by those gestures. right…you were simply thankful to have someone reliable like him look out for you, that’s all this was.
by the time you reached the checkout counter, the store had grown even quieter. the fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead while the cashier scanned items with slow, mechanical movements.
heeseung packed the groceries without much thought, sliding heavier items into the bottom of the bags and lighter ones on top. when the last item was scanned, he lifted most of the bags in one motion.
you instinctively reached for one, but his arm shifted slightly, moving the bag just out of your reach without even looking.
“hey,” you said. “i can carry some.”
“i’ve got it.” he adjusted the bags in his hands, the plastic rustling quietly, “you’ve been on your feet all day,” he finished simply.
you frowned, still hovering beside him with your hand half-extended. “so?”
“so,” he said patiently, like the answer should be obvious. “you don’t need to carry groceries too.”
he doesn’t even wait to argue anymore and that there – that right there – was something you were still unable to get used to. how you just let him take over the small things without fighting him on it, without immediately stepping in to prove that you could help him too.
you fall into step beside him automatically, the doors sliding open with a soft whoosh as you both step back into the warm night air. the parking lot is quieter now, the late hour thinning out the small crowd that had been inside earlier. the heat has softened just slightly, though the pavement still radiates warmth under your shoes.
you had spent most of your life making sure no one had to do things for you. it had never even been a conscious decision, rather just something that happened naturally over time. if you were tired, you pushed through it. if something needed to be done, you handled it. asking for help had always felt… unnecessary at best, uncomfortable at worst.
so it unsettles you a little, how easily you fall into step beside him, how natural it feels to just… allow it, like somewhere along the way you’ve stopped bracing yourself against the idea of relying on someone, even in these small, inconsequential ways.
your gaze drops briefly to the grocery bags swinging lightly from his hands; you could insist again, reach over, grab one before he notices. but the moment stretches quietly, and instead you just keep walking.
you reach the edge of the parking row just as heeseung slows slightly, turning toward where his car sits under one of the streetlights. the light casts a pale glow across the hood, the metal still faintly warm from the heat of the day.
you’re about to step off the curb when something small and gray darts out from beneath the car parked beside his; a cat.
it bounds toward you with surprising confidence, tail flicking as it circles your ankles once before letting out a short, demanding meow. you stop mid-step. heeseung pauses too, the bags shifting slightly in his hands as he looks down.
you crouch before you even realize you’re doing it.
“hey, hey—where did you come from?” you murmur softly, reaching out a tentative hand.
the cat wastes no time. it presses its head straight into your palm, purring like a tiny engine the moment your fingers scratch behind its ears.
a small laugh slips out of you, quiet but genuine, the tension of the long day easing out of your shoulders almost instantly. the cat circles your feet again before settling beside you, leaning heavily into the attention like it had been waiting for it all evening.
“well you’re friendly,” you whisper, running your hand gently down its back.
behind you, heeseung shifts his weight slightly, grocery bags still looped around both wrists. the plastic rustles faintly as he adjusts his grip, but he doesn’t interrupt. he just watches.
it’s the first time he’s actually seen you interact with an animal outside of the stories you tell him over dinner. normally it’s just descriptions of the nervous golden retriever from the waiting room, the stubborn old cat that scratched the vet tech, the tiny kitten you worry over like it’s your own.
but seeing it is… different. you don’t seem self-conscious at all.
your whole posture softens, shoulders dropping as you crouch there in the dim parking lot light, murmuring to the stray like it understands every word. your fingers move with an easy familiarity along the cat’s spine, scratching under its chin in exactly the right spot. the cat practically melts under your hand.
the streetlight above casts a soft amber glow over the scene, catching the faint shine in the cat’s fur and the loose strands of hair that have fallen into your face.
heeseung shifts his weight slightly, the grocery bags rustling in his hands, but he doesn’t interrupt. there’s something oddly calming about the way you’re crouched there, completely absorbed in the small gray creature weaving around your legs. it’s such a simple moment that he almost misses how long he’s been standing there watching, a strange warmth settling somewhere in his chest before he finally shifts the bags again and clears his throat lightly, as if reminding himself he’s still in the middle of a parking lot.
eventually the cat gives one last satisfied nudge against your palm before slipping away, disappearing back under the parked car it had come from.
your hand lingers in the air for a second after it’s gone, fingers curling slightly as if you half expect it to return. then you straighten slowly, brushing your palms against your jeans.
“sorry,” you say, glancing over at him with a sheepish little shrug. “habit.”
heeseung blinks once, the spell of the moment breaking.
“that’s fine, you looked like you enjoyed it.” it's almost exhilarating to see the way you seemingly flush, fingers scratching the back of your neck in a motion he has come to realise you do when you’re nervous or sheepish.
then he shifts the grocery bags in his hands and jerks his head lightly toward the car. “c’mon,” he says, like nothing unusual had just happened, turning toward it before you can apologize again. but as you walk beside him, brushing a bit of stray fur from your jeans, he finds his gaze drifting back to you for a second longer than necessary before he looks away again, telling himself it’s nothing more than the same quiet fondness he’s grown used to feeling whenever you’re around.
part seven.
that night, you collapsed into the cool sheets of his room, the fan running just above your head, and somewhere down the hall, heeseung had resigned himself to the living room couch, a faint smile tugging at his lips. you caught yourself thinking, a little shamefully, that the thought of him there, sacrificing himself for your comfort, made your chest flutter in a way you weren’t entirely prepared for.
you’re in his room. it’s such a simple fact, but it sits heavily in your mind as you change into sleep clothes and slide under the sheets.
the mattress dips slightly differently beneath your weight, the pillow firmer than the one you’re used to, the blanket thinner. when you turn your face toward the pillow, you catch the faintest scent lingering in the fabric. laundry detergent, probably the same brand yunah uses, but underneath it there’s something warmer. subtler. something that doesn’t belong to soap or fabric softener.
something that is just… him. the realization makes your chest tighten unexpectedly, and you immediately roll onto your back again, staring up at the ceiling like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.
it’s ridiculous, it’s just a bed! still, you find yourself lying unusually still, careful not to shift too much under the blankets. like if you move too freely, you’ll somehow erase the quiet evidence that this was his space long before it became yours for the week.
your gaze drifts around the room.
heeseung isn’t particularly messy, but the room doesn’t feel staged either. there’s his guitar propped against the wall beside his desk, a few loose sheets of music sit on his desk, some toy figurines placed in a neat row on top of the shelf above it. the desk itself has the clutter of someone who actually uses it – pens scattered in a chipped mug, a phone charger trailing across the surface, a small stack of notebooks.
your eyes land on the chair beside the desk.
there’s a t-shirt draped over the back of it, sleeves hanging loose like it had been tossed there at the end of a long day. you recognize it, he’d been wearing it a couple nights ago when you’d both stayed out under the peach tree longer than usual; its faded neckline and the way it would stretch across his chest whenever he’d lean back against the tree trunk–
your heart is beating just a little too fast for someone who’s supposed to be falling asleep. the fan whirs overhead, stirring the warm air in slow, steady circles. every now and then it shifts a loose strand of your hair across your cheek, the small movement startlingly loud in the otherwise quiet room, the hum of the ac is steady.
down the hall, the couch creaks faintly again. you picture him there without meaning to.
sprawled awkwardly across the cushions, one arm probably thrown over his eyes the way he does when he’s trying to sleep somewhere that isn’t quite comfortable enough. his legs are too long for the couch – you know that much from the few times you’ve seen him stretched out there watching tv.
he’ll probably wake up with a stiff neck. the thought makes you frown slightly.
you roll onto your side again, tugging the blanket closer around your shoulders. the fabric shifts softly, the pillow dipping beneath your cheek.
it shouldn’t matter. you’re only here for a few nights. maybe a week if the repair takes longer than expected. after that, the room will go back to being exactly what it was before – his space, untouched by your temporary presence.
except things do start to matter when the next morning you wake up and stumble into the living room, only to find heeseung in the kitchen.
the morning light is already spilling through the windows, turning the whole space a soft, washed-out gold. the fan in the corner hums lazily, pushing warm air around the room, the windows pushed open to let the summer air drift in. it smells faintly like garlic and something is sizzling in the pan, and he’s standing there in the middle of it all in a loose tank top that clings just slightly to his shoulders.
you notice it mostly because he keeps pushing his hair back with the back of his wrist, a little distracted, a little flushed from the heat. there’s a faint sheen of sweat along the side of his neck. at some point he pauses whatever he’s doing and reaches for the glass on the counter. he fills it quickly from the jug, tilts his head back, and drinks like he’s been meaning to for a while.
you didn’t mean to stare before, but now you were acutely aware that you were gaping at the sight. not in a perverted way, but you weren’t exactly expecting to be met with this kind of predicament before nine in the morning.
his throat moves as he swallows, slow and steady, and his adam’s apple bobs with each gulp of water. a drop escapes the corner of his mouth and trails down, disappearing somewhere at the edge of his collarbone where the tank top dips low.
he lowers the glass with a small exhale, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, completely unaware of the fact that you’ve been watching the entire time.
you clear your throat softly, but it comes out louder than expected.
heeseung turns slightly at the sound, glancing over his shoulder. his hair falls forward again immediately, the strands sticking to his forehead from the heat.
“oh,” he says, a little surprised. “morning.”
“morning,” you reply quickly.
your voice sounds normal, which feels like a minor miracle. he turns back to the stove, completely unaware of the small internal crisis you’ve just experienced. the pan hisses again when he nudges the eggs around with the spatula.
“you’re up early,” he adds.
“couldn’t sleep.” it’s not exactly a lie. you had slept – but waking up in his room had left you just disoriented enough that your body decided wandering into the kitchen was the next logical step.
you hover near the doorway for a second longer before stepping inside. the floor is cool under your feet. the smell of garlic grows stronger as you move closer, and you realize he’s probably been cooking for a while already.
heeseung glances sideways at you again. he reaches for a plate, sliding the eggs onto it before handing it over. your fingers brush his for half a second when you take it, the contact warm from the heat of the kitchen.
you immediately pretend to be very interested in the table. and when he finally grabs his own plate and drops into the chair opposite you, his tank top shifts again when he leans back, the loose fabric falling easily against his shoulders, you pretend to be very interested in your plate of food.
you’ve eaten breakfast across from him dozens of times by now. there’s nothing new about this; same table, same chairs, same quiet morning routine that has slowly settled into place over the past few weeks.
except now your brain seems determined to notice things it had apparently been ignoring before – the man sitting right in front of you.
outside, the morning is already warming up fast. sunlight spills through the open windows, catching the dust drifting lazily through the air, and somewhere down the street someone starts a motorcycle.
the fan continues its slow rotation above you. across the table, heeseung stretches one arm briefly, rolling his shoulder like it’s stiff from sleeping on the couch.
your eyes flick up automatically. right, he had slept on the couch.
“did you even sleep well?” you ask, trying to sound casual. “that couch is barely big enough for you.”
“i slept just fine, don’t worry about it,” he shrugs and before you have the chance to interject, he poses his own question, “were you comfortable last night? i called the electrician, he’s going to be here later this evening.”
you nod in positive, which is technically true. you had slept, eventually. you just don’t add the part where it took a while to stop being hyperaware of the fact that you were in his bed.
heeseung nods in acknowledgement, satisfied with your answer and goes back to his breakfast like the conversation is settled.
so you do the same, letting the moment pass, but it becomes a little hard to ‘let the moments pass’ because with each passing day, there’s a small shift in awareness.
like the way your shoulders seem to tense slightly when he walks into a room you’re already in. or how you find yourself sitting a little straighter when he pulls up to the bus stop in the evenings and you climb into the passenger seat. you hadn’t been like this before.
before, you would’ve just dropped into the seat with a tired sigh, tossing your bag somewhere near your feet while he asked about the clinic. before, you wouldn’t have noticed the way he leans across the center console sometimes to grab something from the glove compartment, his arm brushing past your shoulder for half a second before pulling away again.
now you notice it. now you notice everything. and you’re hundred percent sure that you’re the only one who’s blowing this up to be more than it is. because objectively speaking, heeseung has never outright done anything or even hinted, nor behaved in a way that could be interpreted as anything beyond what it already is.
which is… kindness. simple, uncomplicated kindness, which comes naturally to him.
you know you’re falling for his charm before you have a moment to sit with that realisation. you’re not dumb, you recognize the pattern. when someone is consistently kind, consistently present, your brain fills in the rest of the gaps whether you want it to or not.
except the thing that unsettles you is that this doesn’t feel like a misunderstanding. you’ve had people be nice to you before – friends who went out of their way to help you or even classmates who tried a little too hard to be thoughtful when they realized you were the type who never asked for help.
none of that had ever made your chest tighten the way it does now when heeseung helps you fold the laundry sitting on his floor on a lazy saturday afternoon.
when did that happen? you try to think back, to find a moment where things shifted, but there isn’t one. it’s just a collection of small things that apparently added up without your permission.
the way he waits outside the clinic instead of letting you take the bus alone. the way he leans against the kitchen counter in the mornings while you complain about the heat, half-listening and half-smiling like he already knows exactly what you’re going to say. the way evenings seem to end up under the peach tree more often than not, guitar resting lazily in your laps while the air cools just enough to make sitting outside bearable.
none of those moments had felt particularly significant when they happened, but now they sit in your memory differently.
by the time he picks you up from the clinic that evening, the thought has settled somewhere quietly in the back of your mind, stubbornly refusing to disappear.
you had decided to take a shower the minute you got back, hoping the cool water would wash away the lingering fatigue of the clinic visit and the stubborn tightness in your shoulders. you throw on the first soft shirt you can find – a faded, oversized t-shirt you discovered in yunah’s room – and shrug it over your damp body. it drapes loosely over your frame, reaching halfway down your thighs.
when you come out of the shower, the house is quiet. you pad barefoot to the living room, your eyes searching for the familiar figure of heeseung and then you notice him outside in the yard.
you pause at the doorway, breath catching just slightly at the sight. standing perfectly still, the last of the fading golden light catches the softness of his coppery hair, the sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his shoulders. his head is tilted up, watching the peach blossoms filtering sunlight around him, making him look almost unreal – ethereal in fact, in your view.
the grass under your bare feet is cool and soft, tickling your toes as you take a hesitant step onto the lawn. each step feels strangely grounding, the small sensation tethering you to the moment even as your heart starts to hammer in your chest. you keep your eyes on him, on the quiet reverence in the way he holds himself.
he hears the soft shuffle of your footsteps and turns to you slowly.
“uh… hi,” you murmur, tugging a little at the hem of your t-shirt, suddenly aware of how loose it is and the way it practically hides the shorts you’ve put on.
heeseung’s head tilts slightly, brows lifting as his gaze flicks over you. his eyes trace the way the cloth sits loosely over your frame, your thighs partially obscured, the hem brushing against your skin. it clicks in an instant that you probably don’t know – that’s his t-shirt you’re wearing.
the corner of his mouth twitches in a way that almost looks like amusement, though he keeps his expression calm. then he straightens fully, hands still clasped behind his back, deciding silently that it’s better to let you remain blissfully unaware, because if he spoke, you’d probably stumble over words and start apologizing, and he doesn’t want that.
“what are you hiding?” you ask, tilting your head, curiosity getting the better of you.
heeseung steps forward just a little, the corners of his mouth lifting in a playful grin. he brings his hands into view slowly, and there, cupped gently in his palms, are two peaches. they’re perfect – plump, round, and heavy with ripeness. they glow a deep, almost blushing coral-pink with warm golden yellow streaks. a faintly sweet, summery scent drifts toward you, making your stomach tighten with anticipation.
“are those…” your voice trails off in a breathy whisper. you don’t why you’re so excited over peaches, but the sight of them in his hands feels like a tiny, perfect gift meant just for you.
heeseung’s grin widens just slightly, enough to make his eyes crinkle at the corners. “yep. from the tree,” he says casually, though there’s a faint spark of pride in his voice. “i thought… they were ripe now. and i promised you the first ones, so…” he shrugs, but the little pause at the end makes it clear he’s been looking forward to this small moment, too.
your hand moves toward them almost instinctively, brushing lightly against his fingers as you take one. the fruit is warm and soft, the skin yielding to your touch. you lift it toward your lips, taking a careful bite.
the moment your teeth sink into the peach, juice bursting against your tongue, it’s like summer condensed into a single, perfect taste – sweet, faintly tart, with a floral undertone that lingers on the roof of your mouth. the flesh is soft and almost melting, dripping with its own golden nectar, and the flavor is sharp enough to make your eyes widen for an instant, yet so ripe it feels indulgent, luxurious, something meant only for moments like this.
you can’t help the little gasp that escapes you, the pure, unfiltered delight that floods your face. you lift the peach again instinctively, biting with a sort of reverent eagerness, juice sliding down your chin without a care.
heeseung freezes for a heartbeat, watching. the sight of your unabashed enjoyment pins him in place, a quiet chokehold of amusement and something softer he doesn’t have a name for yet. the way your lips purse around the peach, the tiny dribble escaping unnoticed – all of it pulls at him, and for a second, he forgets to breathe.
then, instinctively, his fingers reach out, brushing lightly along the curve of your jaw to catch the errant juice. his thumb brushes across your chin, tracing the path of the sweet syrup from the corner of your lips, your skin soft under his touch, his fingers circling ever so slightly around the curve of your jaw. the touch is so gentle; and when your eyes flick up to meet his, he can see the flicker of surprise reflected in your widened gaze.
the air between you thickens instantly, heavier than it was a second ago. that simple, fleeting touch – the brush of his fingers against your skin, is enough to make your pulse spike, and you can’t look away. his eyes are fixed on yours, dark and quiet, but there’s something in the way they linger, something unspoken that makes the heat creeping up your neck feel almost too much to bear.
you pull back slightly, eyes widening, cheeks heating as he steps back and lets out a quiet hum of amusement.
“you’re making a mess,” he says, teasingly, though his tone is soft and warm, and with abject horror you watch as he lifts his thumb that had just traced across your skin to his own lips and then, before you can react, he licks it clean, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the sweetness himself.
your stomach drops, a mix of shock and something warmer coiling tight in your chest, as the entire room shrinks down to the small circle of heat and tension where you’re standing.
you catch your breath, cheeks flushing as you realize the quiet intimacy of it – the way he’s just allowed himself that closeness, the subtle brush of skin and the shared taste of the peach. the world outside seems to fade, blurring into background noise. all that matters is him, the peaches, and the tiny, reckless spark that has suddenly ignited between you, lingering in the charged silence.
heeseung clears his throat softly, though he doesn’t look away, giving you just enough space to process, just enough to feel the fluttering pulse in your chest, something unspoken, that hangs in the air long after the peach juice is gone.
part eight.
the past week had been… something.
heeseung knew it the moment you slid past him in the kitchen that monday morning, moving like a shadow with a quiet, deliberate urgency. usually, you’d linger a bit, make small talk and maybe even share a cup of coffee – but not anymore. now, it was all clipped “mornings” and careful footsteps.
heeseung had noticed the way you avoided him ever since that night with the peaches. at first, he tried to chalk it up to coincidence. but every day you’d rush through breakfast, your eyes fixed on your plate, or move around the apartment like you had somewhere urgent to be. even when he handed you the lunch he’d packed, you’d accepted it with a polite smile, as if afraid to linger.
the rides home from the clinic were the worst. the car felt smaller than it was, cramped not by space but by the silence between you. every turn, every stoplight, every passing car seemed louder than it had any right to be. heeseung could feel your stiffness in the seat beside him, the way your hands folded neatly in your lap, the careful avoidance of even the slightest brush against his arm. it was… new, and it was noticeable.
he was positive he saw you almost flinch when his hand brushed the gearshift knob, just a fraction too close to where your knee rested. every glance in the rearview mirror caught you staring forward, lips pressed into a line, jaw tight, shoulders stiff. you weren’t talking, not really, not like before. even your usual hums or sighs to break the silence had disappeared.
it reminded him of the first weeks you had arrived, and it honestly felt like deja vu. you were already four months into your stay here, and the knowledge was a bit alarming, because heeseung had realised with some profoundness that you only had about two months of your internship left, after which you would be gone again.
he didn’t know what to do with this newfound revelation. in hindsight, he had always been aware, of course, that you would leave at the end of six months, but he had grown accustomed to your presence in the past four months already, so much so that the thought of your absence now felt heavier than it should.
the house had begun to shape itself around you – the way your mug was left on the counter after breakfast, the soft hum of your laundry in the evenings, even the careless way you draped your legs on the couch late at night, bent over a book on the couch. small imprints of you had started to occupy spaces he hadn’t consciously realized were yours.
and now, with just two months left, every small avoidance, every stiffened smile, every careful distance you put between him and yourself, felt sharper, more urgent. heeseung found himself replaying the week over and over: the rides from the clinic, the quiet lunches, the way you’d scooted just a little farther away during guitar lessons.
heeseung tried to reason with himself. maybe it was just nerves. maybe you were stressed about work or tired or something else entirely. but even as he told himself that, he knew it wasn’t just that. your eyes avoided his, your laughter was quieter, and the warmth that had always filled the apartment when you were near had been muted somehow.
he missed it.
the change had been so drastic, it had left him grasping at the rudeness with which it had hit him. were you mad at him?
and the irony of it wasn’t lost on him though.
heeseung, of all people, who prided himself on reading people, who could usually tell in a glance when someone was upset, was fumbling in the dark with you. he didn’t know if he had said something wrong,or if he had crossed some invisible line, or if you were just… realizing things about him that you weren’t ready to face. the thought made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected.
instinctively, he remembers the fateful night when he had handed you the peach – that god darned fruit. the memory was so vivid it made his stomach twist, almost painfully, as if the scent of summer and sweetness still lingered in the air.
he could not, for the love of god, forget the way your lips had pursed around the fruit, the soft, startled gasp when he’d touched your jaw to wipe the juice. and then, that ridiculous, impulsive lick. his own fingers brushing over your skin, tasting what had been yours. he could still see your wide eyes, the subtle shiver that ran through you, and the quiet electricity that had hung between you in the aftermath. he had thought it had been harmless, playful even – but now, in the clarity of this week, he realized it had changed something.
because he had thought of that very moment multiple times already, replaying it in his head like a broken record player. and for some godforsaken reason, all he could think about was the way your lips had shimmered under the dim living room light, the juice glistening across them almost sinfully so.
heeseung ran a hand down his face, pressing into his eyes as if he could scrub the images away, but they only pressed back harder and more insistent. he hated that he couldn’t think of anything else; he hated that the peach, something so innocuous and summery, had somehow become a symbol of all the confusion he felt – his guilt, his desire, his frustration at himself, and the quiet, simmering longing he refused to name.
and worse, he realized with an unsettling clarity that it wasn’t just the memory of that night that haunted him. it was what had followed – the sudden coldness in your presence, the way you now avoided him, the clipped words, the careful distance. every time he saw you retreat even a fraction of an inch, he felt it like a punch to the chest. that night had changed you too, he realized, though he didn’t know if you were even aware of it, and he wasn’t sure which hurt more: that he had caused it, or that he had wanted to.
and that thought, quiet and insistent, gnawed at him. the realization that he might be feeling more than he should, that he could like you – not just as a roommate or friend, but something deeper – hit him with an almost dizzying force.
even as he wrestled with all of that, he saw your subtle attempts to avoid him, and it felt like a knife twisting in his gut – he wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap, to say something – anything – but he didn’t know where to start. the thought that he liked you, more than he should, more than was safe, only made the ache sharper.
he was caught between the memory of that night, the distance you now held, and the unspoken longing that made his chest feel impossibly tight.
you had, for most part, spent the better half of the week wishing and hoping against hope that the ground would split open and swallow you whole.
it had been exactly three days, but every time your mind wandered to what had happened that night, your skin tingled and burned, the ghost of his touch imprinted like a permanent mark you couldn’t erase.
you found yourself retreating without thinking. heeseung’s presence was too much and somehow not enough at the same time. you weren’t sure if you were running from him, from the memory of that night, or from the sharp clarity that you’d allowed yourself to feel more than you should.
the worst part was that his attempts at bridging the gap that you had created weren't lost on you. you had gone as far pretending to be too tired during the weekends to keep up with the guitar lessons. you remember the first time you told him, making up a pathetic excuse about how you had to study and were too tired before promptly shutting yourself in your room. the look on his face had been brief, almost imperceptible, but it had cut through you anyway. there was a flicker of disappointment, yes, but also… something almost akin to wariness, like he’d known before you even spoke that it wasn’t tiredness keeping you from sitting with him over the strings.
after that, you became careful. small movements, careful distances, avoiding the casual touches that had once been second nature. even the way you accepted the lunches he packed felt measured, as if you were protecting yourself from a spillover of emotions you couldn’t control. you didn’t look at him more than necessary; when you did, your eyes darted away before he could catch them.
you wanted to shrink, to disappear, to fold yourself into a corner of the house where he couldn’t reach you – not because you were angry, but because everything about him now made your thoughts spin and your pulse thrum in ways you didn’t know how to control.
you were good at running away. well, that’s what you would like to think. besides, you only had two months left here. and the biggest concern to you was that he was your best friend’s brother.
the thought hit you like a brick every time you tried to justify yourself, it was a line you weren’t supposed to cross, and yet the memory of that night made it feel irrelevant and almost ridiculous.
and yet, despite the retreat, despite every careful step you took to make yourself untouchable, there were tiny, unavoidable moments – when your resolve slipped. a brush of his sleeve when he reached for the water bottle, the sound of his voice humming absentmindedly downstairs, the faint scent of him lingering in the room after he’d left – each one made your stomach flip and your skin prickle, leaving you simultaneously terrified and exhilarated.
it was maddening. every instinct told you to protect yourself, to maintain the distance you had painstakingly carved out, but every fiber of you screamed that you wanted to step closer, to let the orbit shrink just enough so that you could fall into it, consequences be damned.
the two of you were teetering on the edge of this unspoken tension, a fragile line that neither of you dared cross but both were acutely aware of. two months felt impossibly short, and yet infinitely long, stretched taut by your own conflicting desires.
you hated yourself for it, and hated yourself more for wanting him all the same.
part nine.
heeseung had been spending more time outside under the peach tree, these days, alone in his own company, because you had made the invisible walls clear to him.
today was no different. the air was thick with late-summer humidity, the kind that made the sky look dull and heavy even before the sun had fully set and out here, beneath the wide canopy of the peach tree, there was space for the warm evening breeze, for the rustle of leaves overhead, and for thoughts he didn’t quite know what to do with yet.
his attention drifted back toward the quiet street in front of the yard just as the distant sound of an engine began to approach. at first it was nothing unusual; cars passed this road often enough. but the vehicle slowed as it neared the house, headlights sweeping across the front yard in a sudden wash of white light before the car rolled gently to a stop at the curb.
the driver’s side door opened.
a figure stepped out onto the pavement, arms stretching in an exaggerated display of relief. even from the yard he could see the familiar way she tilted her head back, glancing around like she was assessing the entire street at once.
“…yunah?” he called out, the name leaving him before he had fully processed what he was seeing. she turned immediately at the sound of his voice. the grin that spread across her face was unmistakable.
“heeseung!”
she abandoned the driver’s door without even closing it properly, dragging a small rolling suitcase behind her as she crossed the short distance from the curb to the gate. the wheels bumped loudly against the uneven pavement as she hurried toward the yard, her energy so sudden and bright that it cut clean through the quiet evening.
heeseung pushed himself to his feet, still staring at her like his brain hadn’t caught up with the situation yet.
“what are you doing here?” he asked, the question slipping out in a half-laugh of disbelief.
yunah finally stopped a few feet away from him, dropping the suitcase handle with a satisfied sigh as though she had just completed a long journey.
“what kind of greeting is that?” she said, placing one hand dramatically against her chest. “i drive all the way here and my own brother looks offended to see me.”
heeseung crossed his arms loosely, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “you didn’t say you were coming,” he pointed out.
“that’s because it’s called a surprise,” she replied immediately, gesturing toward the house with an impatient flick of her wrist. “where’s y/n?
as if summoned by the mention of your name, the front door creaked open behind them. you had heard the unfamiliar voice through the walls and stepped outside to investigate, wiping your hands absently against the sides of your shorts as you walked down the porch steps.
the moment your eyes landed on the figure standing in the yard, you stopped short.
“…yunah?”
she spun around dramatically at the sound of your voice, a gleeful yell of your name escaping her. the suitcase was completely forgotten as she rushed forward and pulled you into a quick, enthusiastic hug before you had fully processed what was happening. you laughed in surprise, still slightly stunned as you pulled back to look at her properly.
“what are you doing here?” you asked, glancing between her and heeseung like you were expecting someone to explain the situation.
“my friend had a dance competition in the town this weekend,” yunah explained easily, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. “i came to watch and figured it would be stupid to book a hotel when i can just crash here for the weekend.”
“you didn’t even call,” you pointed out, though there was a smile tugging at your mouth now.
“that’s the whole point of a surprise visit,” she replied matter-of-factly.
her gaze lingered on your face a moment longer than necessary, the smile on her lips shifting into something more thoughtful.
“you look exhausted,” she said bluntly.
heeseung, still leaning against the low edge circling the peach tree, let out a quiet breath of amusement at that. the sound was small, but it was enough for yunah’s attention to snap toward him immediately.
“what?” yunah demanded, eyes narrowing with sudden curiosity. “why are you laughing like that?”
“i’m not,” heeseung replied, though the corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he pushed himself off the tree and stepped closer to the porch.
“liar,” yunah shot back instantly, pointing an accusing finger in his direction before turning back again. “and you—don’t try to change the subject. something’s clearly going on here.”
“there’s nothing going on,” came the quick reply, though the answer arrived a little too fast to feel natural.
yunah stared for another second, her gaze moving slowly between the two of you like she was piecing together a puzzle only she could see. then suddenly her entire expression shifted.
“oh my god,” she said, clapping her hands once with sudden enthusiasm, “y/n, we should go out for drinks!”
the suggestion landed so abruptly that for a second neither of you reacted.
you blinked at her, still halfway down the porch steps, trying to catch up with the sudden leap in conversation. “drinks?” the word came out slower than you meant it to, like your brain was still sorting through everything that had happened in the last five minutes. “you just got here.”
“exactly,” yunah replied immediately, as if that proved her point. she hooked her thumbs into the straps of her small crossbody bag and rocked back slightly on her heels, surveying both of you with renewed interest. “i drive all the way here, walk into the most depressing atmosphere i’ve ever experienced, and you expect me to sit inside all night? absolutely not.”
heeseung let out a short breath that was suspiciously close to a laugh. “you’ve been here for, what, three minutes?”
“and that was more than enough time to diagnose the situation,” yunah shot back without missing a beat. her attention shifted squarely toward you again, eyes narrowing slightly in that calculating way that meant she had already made up her mind. “seriously, when was the last time you left this house for something that wasn’t work?”
you opened your mouth to answer, then stopped. yunah’s eyebrows lifted slowly.
“…that’s what i thought,” she said, nodding once like she had just confirmed a theory.
a quiet protest followed, something about being tired and the clinic having been busy all week, but yunah waved it away almost immediately.
“even more reason,” she insisted. “one drink. two, maybe. nothing crazy.” her gaze flicked toward heeseung for a moment, as if remembering he was still part of the conversation. “you don’t mind, right?”
heeseung shrugged lightly, though his eyes lingered on your face a second longer than necessary. “why would i mind?”
“because you look like you’re about to give a lecture about responsibility,” yunah replied dryly. heeseung simply rolls his eyes at her.
yunah turned back to you before he could say anything else, clapping her hands together once more with renewed determination. “come on. change into something nice and we’ll go find a place nearby. i refuse to spend my one free weekend in this town sitting in the living room.”
heeseung is left flabbergasted, the look on his face eliciting a small smile from you. but maybe it was good it would be just the two of you. you don’t think you could handle the lee siblings together tonight.
you shifted slightly on the porch, caught somewhere between amusement and mild embarrassment, clearly aware that yunah had bulldozed straight through the conversation without consulting anyone.
“it’s just one drink,” you said quietly, almost apologetically. “we’ll probably be back early.”
“don’t ruin the vibe already,” yunah complained, making a loud, exaggerated noise behind you. “we’re not going out just to come back in an hour.”
you disappeared upstairs into your room before she could say anything else, the familiar quiet of the house settling briefly around you again. for a moment you leaned against the bedroom door after closing it, letting out a long breath.
downstairs, yunah’s voice drifted faintly through the walls as she moved around the living room, apparently continuing to complain about the town’s lack of nightlife.
you shook your head slightly and pushed away from the door.
the change of clothes didn’t take long. you had nothing too fancy packed anyway, so it was just a pair of dark jeans and a soft fitted shirt that had been sitting folded at the bottom of the bag since you got here.
the fabric sat properly instead of hanging off you, and for the first time in months, you looked like someone heading out for the evening instead of someone who had just stumbled home from a long shift.
before leaving the room, you had paused in front of the small mirror near the dresser. almost absentmindedly, your hand had reached for the tube of lip gloss sitting near the corner of the bag that had been sitting there untouched for ages.. the color was barely there when it spread across your lips, just a faint sheen that caught the light when you pressed them together once.
you hadn’t thought much about it when applying it. but the moment you stepped back into the living room and saw heeseung there, suddenly the decision felt much more noticeable.
yunah was the first to react. her eyes flicked up and down quickly, and the grin that followed was immediate.
“well,” she said slowly, leaning back against the couch with clear satisfaction. “look at that.”
you rolled your eyes, tugging lightly at the hem of the shirt like you suddenly weren’t sure about the choice anymore.
“what?”
“nothing,” yunah replied, though the tone suggested the opposite. “just appreciating the effort.”
heeseung hadn’t said anything yet. he was standing near the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, one hand resting loosely against the frame. at first his expression was neutral, like he was still halfway through whatever thought he had been having before you walked in.
then his gaze lifted properly and something in his expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. his eyebrows lifted just slightly, like he hadn’t expected the change, like he was quietly recalibrating the version of you he had gotten used to seeing every day.
you felt the sudden awareness of being looked at. of the way the clothes fit, of the faint gloss on your lips, of the fact that this was the first time in months you hadn’t been standing in front of him wearing something oversized and half-asleep.
your hand drifted automatically to the strap of your bag again. for some reason you felt painfully visible all of a sudden.
heeseung straightened a little where he stood, like he had been caught staring longer than intended – he had been staring longer than intended.
“…you look nice,” he said after a brief pause.
for a second you didn’t know how to respond. the compliment sat awkwardly in the air between you, making the room feel a little smaller than it had a moment ago.
you are saved from the mortifying ordeal of coming up with a reply when yunah suddenly claps her hands together behind you.
“alright,” she declared brightly, completely oblivious to the strange little bubble that had formed in the room. “enough dilly dallying, we’re leaving!”
heeseung stepped aside slightly, giving the two of you space to pass through the living room.
as you moved past him, the awareness returned immediately. for a split second your shoulder almost brushed his arm, and you felt yourself instinctively slow just enough to avoid the contact.
behind you, heeseung lingered near the doorway.
“don’t stay out too late,” he called casually, leaning one shoulder against the frame.
yunah groaned dramatically without even turning around.
“oh my god,” she complained. “why are you like this?”
for a brief moment you glanced back. the porch light cast a warm halo around him. he was still looking in your direction, expression unreadable but calm, like he had settled back into the quiet rhythm of the evening the moment you stepped away. and by the time you turned the corner at the end of the street, the house had already disappeared behind the trees.
a faint warmth still lingered in your chest anyway, stubbornly following you into the night.
approximately an hour and a half later, the two of you were seated at a small wooden table tucked toward the back of a dimly lit bar, the low thrum of music and scattered chatter filling the space around you.
the table in front of you was cluttered now – two empty bottles pushed aside, another pair of drinks sweating slowly onto the wood. the nervous energy you had carried out of the house had long since softened into something warmer, helped along by alcohol and the easy familiarity of yunah’s presence.
the two of you hadn’t seen each other properly in months, and once the conversation started it had been difficult to stop.
yunah had talked animatedly about the competition she’d driven down to watch that weekend, reenacting entire moments with exaggerated gestures. from there the stories had drifted into everything else that had happened over the summer.
you had laughed more in that hour than you had all week.
in return, you had told yunah about the clinic – about the strange rhythm of working somewhere so quiet compared to the city. the way the days stretched differently here. the odd little stories that piled up when you spent enough time around animals and the people who brought them in. miso had come up somewhere in the middle of it, and yunah had listened with genuine interest as you described the tiny kitten that had somehow become part of your life.
but eventually the stories began to thin out. the music from the speakers filled the pauses, and yunah leaned back in her chair, bottle resting loosely between her fingers as she watched you with that familiar calculating look.
she studies your face for a moment longer than expected, like she’s assembling something in her mind piece by piece. then she leans forward, resting both elbows on the table.
“…okay,” yunah said slowly, voice dropping just a notch. “what’s going on between you and my brother?”
the question hit so directly you almost choked on your drink. you coughed lightly, setting the bottle down a little too quickly. “what?”
yunah didn’t even blink. “you heard me.”
for a moment you just stared at her, genuinely thrown off by how quickly she had jumped to that conclusion. the two of you had barely been sitting there ten minutes.
“that’s—nothing’s going on,” you said, the words coming out faster than intended.
yunah’s eyes narrowed immediately.
“that was the fastest lie i’ve heard from you,” yunah replied calmly, leaning back again like she had all the time in the world. “seriously, you two were standing in that living room like someone had pressed pause on the entire house.”
“it was that obvious?” you blinked again, surprised.
yunah let out a quiet laugh. “to me? yeah.” she took another sip of her drink, watching you over the rim of the bottle. “i grew up with him. i know exactly what he looks like when something’s stuck in his head.”
your fingers tightened slightly around the neck of your glass. the noise of the bar hummed softly around you, but suddenly the table felt a little too small for the conversation that had just started.
“…it’s not like that,” you said after a moment, quieter now.
yunah didn’t push right away. instead she waited, gaze steady, like she was giving you the space to decide whether you were going to keep pretending or not.
“you know you can just say it,” yunah added eventually, tone gentler this time. “i’m not going to bite.”
for a moment you didn’t answer, your fingers tracing slowly along the rim of the glass as the foam settled back into the drink. the alcohol had begun to warm your chest, loosening the careful grip you usually kept on your thoughts. you kept your gaze on the table, turning the truth over in your mind because it was uncomfortably simple. maybe it was the drinks, maybe yunah’s steady gaze across from you, or maybe you were just tired of pretending.
you picked up the bottle and took another long sip before answering. when you set it down again, you let out a quiet breath.
“…i think i like him.”
the admission slipped past your lips almost carefully, as if you yourself didn't believe it. for a moment yunah didn’t react. then her eyebrows lifted slightly, and the corner of her mouth curved into a slow grin.
“that’s it?”
your head snapped up immediately, confusion flashing across your face.
“what do you mean that’s it?” you asked, almost incredulous.
“you said it like you were confessing to something illegal,” yunah replied lightly, leaning back in her chair again as she took another sip of her drink. “i was expecting a much bigger revelation.”
you stared at her, still trying to reconcile the calmness of her reaction with the anxiety that had been twisting in your chest all week.
“he’s your brother,” you pointed out carefully, as if the statement alone should explain everything.
“yes,” yunah said simply.
“and you’re not… weird about that?”
yunah tilted her head slightly, studying your expression for a moment before setting her bottle down.
“why would i be?” she asked.
you hesitated, searching for the right way to explain the knot that had been sitting stubbornly in your chest ever since that night under the peach tree.
“i just thought you’d think it was complicated,” you admitted quietly. “or… inappropriate. or something.”
yunah let out a small laugh at that, shaking her head.
“relax. i'm not anal like that.” she swirled the last bit of her drink lazily before setting the bottle down. “i’m just trying to understand how this even happened.”
“it’s not like there was some moment where everything suddenly changed,” you said slowly. “at least i don’t think there was.” your fingers traced the damp ring your glass had left on the table as you spoke. “it just kind of… crept up on me.”
yunah listened quietly, head tilted slightly.
“i’ve been staying here for four months now,” you continued, shrugging a little. “at some point you get used to someone being around. the routines start overlapping. you cook dinner together, sit in the living room, talk about random things after work. it just becomes normal.” you paused briefly, lifting your glass for another sip before adding more quietly, “i guess i didn’t realize when normal started feeling… different.”
yunah let out a soft hum of understanding, leaning back again.
“that makes sense,” she said. “you’ve basically been living together. people get attached when they share space like that.”
you looked up at her, a little surprised by how easily she said it.
“so what are you going to do about it?” she asked after a moment.
the question made you pause. you hadn’t really let yourself think that far ahead. your fingers curled around the glass again as you leaned back slightly in your chair, staring at the condensation sliding down the side of it.
“i don’t know,” you admitted eventually. “that’s kind of the problem.”
yunah didn’t rush to respond. she studied your face for a moment, clearly reading the uncertainty there.
“you’re leaving in two months,” she said quietly, connecting the dots without you having to say it out loud.
you nodded once.
“that’s the other part of it,” you said. “even if i wanted to… what would be the point?” you gave a small, humorless huff of a laugh. “besides i don’t even know if he…if he feels the same way.”
admitting that last part was probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve done all night. aside from the fact that yunah was taking this very positively, which somehow made it worse.
because now there was nothing to hide behind. no outrage, no teasing accusation, no horrified you like my brother? reaction that would have allowed you to retreat back into denial.
“i just think you’re giving yourself way too much responsibility in this whole situation.” yunah says, “you’re talking about this like you’re the only one who’s allowed to have feelings, or like it’s entirely your job to predict how everything will turn out before anything even happens.”
you frowned faintly.
“that’s not what i’m doing.”
“it kind of is,” yunah said gently. “you’re already worrying about what happens if he doesn’t feel the same way, what happens if things get awkward, what happens because you’re leaving in two months. you’ve already skipped about ten steps ahead.”
“it still feels messy,” you muttered after a moment. “and i really don’t want to make things weird in that house.”
yunah nodded slowly, acknowledging that point.
“that part i get,” she said. “living together complicates things. and yeah, the whole ‘leaving in two months’ situation doesn’t exactly make it easier.” she paused briefly before adding with a small shrug, “but liking someone doesn’t suddenly become a terrible thing just because the timing isn’t perfect.”
yunah continued, voice gentler now as she leaned her forearms on the table. “heeseung may not be the most upfront about his feelings, but he’s not the type to play games with people either. if there’s something there, it’ll show eventually.”
yunah’s words weren’t dismissive the way you had half expected them to be. if anything, they were almost… practical. like she was talking you down from a ledge you had built entirely inside your own head.
“you say that like it’s simple,” you muttered after a moment.
“it’s not simple,” yunah replied easily. “but it’s also not the disaster scenario you’ve been building up all this while.” she tilted her head slightly, studying your face again. “right now the only thing that’s actually happened is that you realized you like someone. everything else is just you trying to predict the future.”
you let out a small breath at that, leaning back slightly in your chair. the alcohol had warmed its way comfortably through your system by now, softening the tight coil of anxiety that had been sitting in your chest earlier in the evening. the conversation no longer felt like something you had to defend yourself through.
“…maybe,” you admitted.
“good,” she said, picking up her bottle again, with a small nod, satisfied with that much. “then let’s stop dissecting your love life like it’s a case study.”
the conversation loosened after that, drifting naturally into other things the way it always had between the two of you. somewhere along the way another round appeared at the table; then another.
by the time you both paused long enough to actually look at the table again, the clutter of bottles had quietly multiplied. yunah squinted at them with a suspicious expression, as if they had appeared there on their own.
hours had passed by, your head felt pleasantly light now, the room just slightly softer around the edges. you knew that walking in a straight line would require a little more concentration than usual. you leaned back in your chair again, rubbing briefly at your temple.
you don’t register much of what’s happening except the vague awareness of having to book a cab to get you back home. you’re pretty sure yunah is already on it though, with the way she has to quint at her phone screen, the light glowing faintly across her face while she tapped at the screen.
somewhere in the back of your mind it registered that yunah had called someone. you just didn’t realize who it was until something in your peripheral vision shifts. a familiar flash of copper hair catches the dim bar lights as someone steps up beside the table, tall enough to block part of the noise and movement around you. your slow, alcohol-dazed brain takes a second to connect the pieces, eyes lifting just enough to focus – oh.
heeseung is here.
part ten.
it had started manageable enough.
yunah had been laughing the entire walk to the car, leaning heavily on his shoulder while attempting to tell a story that kept dissolving halfway through into giggles. getting her into the passenger seat had taken effort, but at least she had been cooperative.
you were the real problem. you insisted you were perfectly capable of walking while your feet clearly disagreed. at one point you had stopped halfway down the sidewalk, squinting at the pavement like it had personally offended you.
“i’m walking fine,” you had insisted.
heeseung had stared at you for a moment before gently pulling you up and steering you toward the back seat anyway.
“yeah,” he’d said calmly. “you’re doing great. get in the car.”
by the time he managed to get you both through the front door of the house, heeseung felt like he had just finished supervising two extremely uncoordinated toddlers.
yunah collapsed onto the couch almost immediately. you had, for some reason, taken to sit cross legged on the floor right there, hugging your bag to your chest precariously.
heeseung shut the door behind him and turned around just in time to see the scene. for a moment he simply stood there, staring, before he heard the painful croak of yunah’s voice demanding she be given some water.
he let out a quiet breath and moved toward the kitchen without argument. years of experience had taught him that post-drinking yunah always came with the same demands – water, complaints about the world spinning, and the inevitable declaration that she was “never doing this again.”
by the time heeseung finished making sure yunah wasn’t going to roll off the couch in her sleep, the house had gone quiet again – too quiet, in fact. he turned his head toward the living room. the floor where you had been sitting earlier was empty.
heeseung exhaled slowly and pushed a hand back through his hair, already feeling the faint onset of a headache forming behind his temples. leaving you alone for two minutes should not have resulted in a disappearance. but that’s when he notices the front door left ajar. he’s pretty sure he shut it behind him.
when he pushed the door open the rest of the way, the cooler night air brushed immediately across his skin. the weather had finally broken after days of oppressive humidity, leaving the yard washed in a quiet stillness under the pale glow of the moon. the breeze moved gently through the grass, rustling faintly through the leaves of the peach tree near the far edge of the yard.
you’re standing beneath the peach tree. heeseung watches as you rise carefully onto your tiptoes, bare feet pressing into the cool grass while both arms stretch upward toward the lowest branch.
somehow, despite the alcohol still working its way through your system, you manage to keep your balance, body swaying only slightly as your fingertips brush the leaves. a singular round peach – the reason for all this effort – hangs just beyond your reach. when your fingers finally graze the branch, the fruit swings away from you with the movement, the leaves shivering softly as if in quiet protest.
heeseung doesn’t even realize he’s already moving toward you until he’s halfway across the yard. before you can make another determined but ultimately hopeless attempt, he steps in behind you and reaches past your shoulder with practiced ease. his hand steadies the branch, leaves rustling faintly under his grip as his fingers close around the peach. a small twist, a quiet snap of the stem – and the fruit comes free in his hand.
without meaning to, his other hand has already found purchase across your waist, steadying your swaying figure. and suddenly, he’s acutely aware of the warmth of your body through the thin fabric of your shirt, the quiet rise and fall of your breathing so close to him. he clears his throat softly and lets his hand fall away, stepping back half a pace like the realization has finally caught up with him.
he holds the peach out to you expecting at most a sleepy thank you or a half-serious attempt to eat it without washing it. instead, the moment the fruit settles into your palm, something in your expression changes. your lips part slightly, then press together again like you’re trying to keep them steady. the shift is so subtle at first that he almost misses it. then your eyes start to glisten.
heeseung freezes. your mouth wobbles, and then very quietly – you start tearing up. for a split second his brain completely stalls.
“…hey—” he says immediately, the word coming out far more alarmed than he intended. “wait—what? what happened?”
you’re staring down at the peach with such sorrow, heeseung thought someone had died. your grip tightens around it, shoulders drawing in slightly as you sniff once in a very determined effort to not actually cry. from heeseung’s perspective the emotional shift makes absolutely no sense. two seconds ago you were stretching under a tree to get this thing, and now you look like someone has just told you some terrible news.
“did i—” he starts, completely baffled. “did i do something?”
you shake your head quickly, but the movement only makes your eyes water more. for a second it looks like you’re trying to decide whether you even want to answer the question. then your voice comes out soft and slightly thick.
“…i was getting it for you.”
he blinks. “…what?”
you lift the peach a little helplessly like the explanation is obvious. “it was supposed to be for you,” you mumble, the words coming out unevenly now that the alcohol has completely loosened whatever careful filter you usually keep in place. “like… a present.”
for a moment he just stares at you. the situation rearranges itself inside his head all at once and a laugh rises instinctively in his chest before he can stop it. he doesn’t mean to mock, but the moment he sees your expression still wobbling, he swallows it down quickly, pressing his lips together instead.
“hey, hey—” he says gently, stepping a little closer again. “it’s okay.”
you look unconvinced. the breeze shifts through the branches overhead, brushing a loose strand of hair across your face. without thinking about it, heeseung lifts his hand and tucks it back behind your ear, the motion careful and slow so he doesn’t startle you. his fingers linger for half a second longer than necessary before dropping again.
“i didn’t realize it was a gift,” he says softly. your eyes drop back down to the peach in your hands.
“it was supposed to be a… you know,” you mumble, “…a confession peach.”
“…a what?” the words come out so quietly that he almost doesn’t register them at first.
“an ‘i like you’ peach,” you clarify, voice small and matter-of-fact in the way only drunk honesty can manage. “that’s why i was trying to get it.”
for a second the world seems to pause. heeseung’s brain short-circuits so completely that he doesn’t even realize he’s stopped breathing. the humor of the situation itself twists into something else entirely.
his chest tightens instead. because you’re drunk; which means you’ll probably wake up tomorrow not remembering half of this conversation. or maybe you will.
the thought lands somewhere uncomfortable in the middle of his chest. because the truth – the one he’s been deliberately avoiding for weeks now – is suddenly standing right in front of him in a way that’s impossible to pretend he hasn’t noticed. the careful distance between you. the tension that’s crept into every conversation. the strange, quiet awareness that follows him whenever you’re in the same room.
he had told himself it was easier not to touch that. the problem was that noticing something and doing something about it were two very different things.
because he knew you were leaving in two months. that number had been sitting quietly in the back of his mind for a while now, ticking down in a way he tried not to acknowledge too directly.
so he’d stayed quiet. but now you’re standing in front of him barefoot in the grass, clutching a peach like it was some sort of offering – and for the first time tonight, he’s not sure how much longer he can hold it in.
and you seem to realise it too. because suddenly, you’re feeling the soberness creep through your body in slow, uneven waves – like the night is finally catching up to you and refusing to stay blurred any longer. the way your feet feel on the grass suddenly registers too clearly. the cool air against your skin sharpens. even the weight of the peach in your hand feels real in a way it didn’t a minute ago.
you blink once. then again. and it’s like the world quietly clicks into place.
“…oh my god,” you say under your breath.
heeseung’s gaze shifts immediately. “did you just…did you…”
“i—” you start, then stop. then try again, slower this time, like speaking carefully might undo it. “i think i just said something.”
his expression tightens slightly. not annoyed. just… cautious. like he’s bracing for impact.
“you said a lot of things,” he says carefully. that makes you look up.
and you regret it immediately, because he’s standing too close and your throat immediately goes dry.
because now everything is too real. the distance between you. the quiet tension that has been building for weeks without you admitting it. the fact that you’re standing under a peach tree holding something you literally called a confession like it was a joke you could laugh off tomorrow.
already trying to step back. your voice comes out uneven, like your body is reacting before your brain can fully catch up. you attempt to pull yourself out of his steadying grip around your arm, but you only manage to stumble half a step before your balance gives out slightly.
he doesn’t let you fall though, his hand firms instinctively, just enough to keep you steady, not enough to trap you. but it’s enough to make you stop moving altogether.
“you’re drunk, let’s get you to bed.” that single sentence lands heavier than it should.
because now it’s not just about what you said. it’s about the fact that you meant it enough for it to slip out at all.
you grip the peach tighter, like it might somehow rewind time if you hold on hard enough. “no,” you say quickly, too quickly, already panicking again. “i mean—i was drunk. i’m still—i’m not fully—this doesn’t count, okay?”
his eyebrows lift slightly. “this doesn’t count?”
“yes,” you say firmly, as if firmness can erase memory. he just watches you. and it’s infuriating, because he looks entirely too calm for someone who has just been told that the confession he’s just gotten might need to be disregarded.
“then why do you keep running away?”
the question lands much more directly than you expected. you blink at him, caught off guard by how simply he says it. “i don’t—”
“you do,” he interrupts gently, not harshly enough to start an argument but firm enough that you know pretending won’t work. his eyes search your face like he’s been thinking about this longer than he’s letting on. “you were going to just leave right now. and this is not the first time, you’ve been avoiding me the whole week.”
your brain immediately tries to scramble for a defense, but nothing convincing comes up fast enough.
he exhales slowly, eyes searching yours for some unspoken explanation. there’s something thoughtful about the way he studies you now, like he’s working through the question himself while he says it.
“is it because it’s me?”
your brows draw together immediately and your chest twists painfully. my god, you think, he think, he really doesn’t know.
the realization hits you with an almost painful clarity. for a second you just stare at him, the defensive response you’d been preparing dissolving before it even forms. because the way he’s looking at you now isn’t confrontational, and it isn’t smug either. if anything, there’s something almost uncertain about it – like he’s been turning this question over in his head for days and still hasn’t quite found the answer.
when you don’t answer, his face falls. “wait nevermind, i don’t think you’re sober enough–”
“it’s not because it’s you,” you cut in firmly then. you can feel his eyes still on you, waiting.
the words land cleanly between you both, enough to make him stop physically, but not the voices in his head.
his gaze sharpens just a fraction. “okay,” he says carefully. “then tell me why it feels like you’re trying to disappear every time things get—” he pauses, searching for the word, jaw tightening slightly, “—real.”
the easy answer would be to laugh it off. there are a dozen small explanations you could reach for that would let both of you pretend the situation is less complicated than it actually is. but none of them would explain the past week.
“because it is you,” you admit after a moment. the words come out softer than you intended. across from you, heeseung shifts slightly.
“that’s the opposite of what you just said.”
“i know.”
“okay,” he says carefully. “you’re going to have to explain that one.”
you let out a quiet, humorless breath. for a moment you consider lying again. pretending the confession had been nothing more than drunken nonsense would be easier for both of you. it would give you a clean way out.
“it’s not that simple.”
his expression doesn’t change, but his attention sharpens slightly.
“what part isn’t simple?”
“this part,” you say quietly, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “that you’re my best friend’s brother. that i’m leaving in two months…” you trail off, searching for the right word. “its complicated.”
heeseung watches you carefully.
“and that’s why you’ve been avoiding me.”
your mouth dries up. this is not how you expected to have this talk. not here, not half tipsy, not clutching on to a peach in your fist like your life depended on it. and it’s a little frustrating to heesueng to, as patient as he is, his hands are resisting the urge to make you look at him, because god, you won’t even meet his eyes.
your gaze stays stubbornly fixed somewhere on the ground, fingers worrying the fuzzy skin of the fruit in your hand like it might offer you an escape route if you stare at it long enough.
“i didn’t think it was fair,” you admit after a moment.
“to who?”
“to you.” you let out another quiet breath, “if i said it—if i just stayed quiet, then it wouldn’t just disappear when i leave,” you explain slowly, forcing yourself to keep going. “and i didn’t want to be the person who drops something like that into your life and then walks away two months later.”
for the first time since the conversation started, heeseung looks genuinely taken aback. and you know because you finally have the courage to look up at him, despite instinct still clawing at you to look anywhere else.
“so yes,” you add quickly, your voice tightening slightly, “i panicked. maybe pretending it never happened seemed easier than dealing with what comes after.”
the quiet stretches just long enough that you start regretting opening your mouth at all. his expression is still that same stunned kind of thoughtful, like he’s trying to rearrange something in his head that suddenly doesn’t fit the way it used to.
“you really thought that was the problem,” he says eventually.
you frown faintly. “what do you mean?”
he shifts under the shade of the tree, the gentle breeze combing his hair before his own hand comes up to drag loosely through it before dropping again. when his gaze settles back on you, it’s steadier now, less surprised and more focused.
“the problem,” he says slowly, “isn’t that you said you liked me.”
your chest tightens immediately. “then what is it?”
“the problem,” he says quietly, “is that you decided what that meant for both of us before i even had a chance to answer.”
“i wasn’t deciding anything,” you say automatically.
“you were,” he replies, not harshly, just matter-of-fact. “you decided it would be unfair. you decided it would end badly because you’re leaving. and then you decided the best solution was to pretend it never happened.”
your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. because when he says it like that, it does sound exactly like what you did. heeseung watches your expression shift, the brief flicker of realization that passes over your face. his tone softens slightly when he speaks again.
“you assumed i’d rather not deal with it,” he continues. “or that i’d be better off if you just erased the whole thing.”
“i thought i was saving us both a problem.”
a quiet breath escapes him, something between a sigh and a soft laugh. “that’s a lot of decisions you made on my behalf.”
you wince a little at that. “i was just trying to be realistic.”
“about something you never even asked me about.”
he doesn’t touch you. he just stays there, close enough now that you’re suddenly very aware of the warmth coming off him, of the way he’s towering over you, the way the leaves overhead rustle, the way the sweet scent of the fruits carry through the breeze. he studies your face for a second before speaking, like he’s choosing the wording carefully.
“if you weren’t leaving,” he asks quietly, “would you still have run away?”
you hesitate, but his eyes stay on your face the entire time, patient and intent, like he’s willing to wait as long as it takes for you to answer honestly.
“…probably not,” you admit.
his gaze flickers slightly at that. “probably?”
you huff a quiet breath. “okay, no. i wouldn’t have.”
something subtle shifts in his expression when you say it, some small tension easing out of his shoulders like a piece of the conversation finally settled where it belonged.
then his voice drops a little softer, “so it’s not that you don’t like me. but you know,” he adds quietly, “there’s still one thing you haven’t considered.”
your brows pull together. “what?”
“that maybe i liked you back.”
“…what?”
a faint, crooked smile appears at the corner of his mouth, but there’s something more serious underneath it.
“i’m saying,” he clarifies, “you made a lot of decisions about how this would go. without letting me have any say in it.”
your brain feels like it’s lagging behind the conversation now. because he’s looking at you in a way that makes the rest of your thoughts fall apart. his hand comes up to circle around your waist and he pulls you in just slightly, gently enough that you don’t stumble, like he’s still testing whether you’ll suddenly remember how to run away.
your heartbeat is loud enough in your ears that you’re almost sure he can hear it. heeseung’s gaze flickers between your eyes and your mouth, like he’s memorizing the distance before closing it.
“just once…” he murmurs again, softer this time. his thumb shifts slightly where it rests against your chin, barely brushing the skin there as if the movement is unconscious. “just one more time. tell me what you really feel.”
up this close you can see the tiny crease between his brows, the way his eyes keep flicking briefly to your mouth before forcing themselves back to your gaze like he’s trying to behave.
“i like you,” you say. and it's that simple. but now that you’ve said it, the words don’t feel nearly as terrifying as they did the first time.
“i like you,” you repeat, a little more firmly this time, because if you’re doing this again you might as well do it properly, “i think about you more than i should. like… stupid things. the way you hover around the kitchen in that stupid tank top, the way i always look forward to our guitar lessons. the way you always look out for me. and half the time i thought i was just embarrassing myself. like i was the only one standing there with feelings while you were just being nice.”
“you really thought that,” he says after a moment, “you’re unbelievable,” he huffs out a laugh, and as if sensing your protest, he adds quickly, “because you spent a week avoiding me over something that apparently didn’t occur to you to check.”
“well, how was i supposed to know you liked me back?!” the question comes out sharper than you mean it to.
you’re halfway between defensive and embarrassed now, because in your head the logic had been perfectly sound. of course you assumed he didn’t like you. of course you assumed you were the only one making things weird.
“i thought you noticed.” and it's his turn to explain now.
“i thought it was clear.i wasn’t looking out for you because you’re yunah’s best friend for one.”he continues, already sounding mildly embarrassed about the direction this explanation is heading. “i mean—yeah, at first obviously that was the situation,” he says. “i can’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but before i knew it, i just knew that i wanted to take care of you”
“i just… started noticing things,” he continues quietly, eyes lingering on your face. “like the way you’d look around the room when you came downstairs, like you were checking who was there before you sat down. or the way you’d always pretend the heat didn’t bother you when we would sit outside.” his fingers tuck the strand of hair behind your ear, gently stroking cheek.
“and every time something small happened,” he adds, voice softening further, “my first thought was always you.”
his hand lingers near your temple now, thumb tracing lightly along your hairline in an absent, soothing motion like he’s forgotten he’s doing it.
“and that night,” he adds after a beat, voice lower again, “when i gave you the first peach…” you groan faintly under your breath, but there’s no real protest in it this time.
“you were trying so hard to pretend nothing happened,” he continues, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly at the memory. his thumb drifts slowly along the curve of your jaw as he speaks, retracing the path of that same moment.
“i realised how dumb i had been to do that, but i just…you were wearing my tshirt and you just looked at me,” he adds, eyes flickering between yours for a second before dropping briefly to your mouth.
you wondered how long this agony would last. how many more times would his gaze fall to your lips, how many times would he keep reigniting that same unbearable awareness between you.
every time his eyes dip, it feels like the air shifts. like something is about to happen and then… doesn’t. and it leaves your chest tightening a little more each time. beheeseung seems just as aware of it.
his thumb slows where it rests against your jaw, the soft motion turning absentminded, almost thoughtful now. for a second he looks like he’s debating something with himself. when he speaks again, his voice is low.
“i like you too.” and again, it is just that simple.
and then he leans in, slowly. painfully slowly.
the space between your faces shrinks inch by inch, his breath warm against your lips before they even touch. for a second you think he might stop there. just close enough to make the air between you feel electric. but then his thumb shifts lightly against your jaw, and he closes the last bit of distance.
it takes you not even a second to realise that heeseung is as calm as he is in everyday things as he is right now; like he sees no reason to rush something he actually wants to experience.
your brain goes strangely quiet, you notice how steady he is. there’s none of that clumsy urgency you half expected from how long the tension had been building. no sudden grab, no rushed movement. just warmth and patience as his mouth presses gently against yours again, slower this time.
like he’s savoring it; the revelation sends a quiet shiver down your spine. and somewhere in the middle of it, something inside you loosens.
because this is the same heeseung you’ve been watching for months – the one who lingers over coffee in the mornings instead of gulping it down, who takes his time tuning a guitar string until it’s just right, who listens to you like he’s not in a hurry to get to the end of what you’re saying.
of course he kisses like this.
his hand slides a little higher along the side of your neck, fingers resting there gently as his lips move against yours again. your own lips respond almost instinctively this time, no longer stiff with surprise but softening into the kiss, meeting his in a slow rhythm that feels almost natural.
your chest tightens when he tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough that the contact shifts from soft to something fuller and you feel it immediately.
your arms curl around his middle when his thumb brushes lightly along the side of your neck. the quietest sound escapes you; it’s barely there, more breath than voice, like your body forgets for a second how to keep everything contained.
it’s soft enough that it almost disappears into the space between you, but heeseung still hears it.
his hand at your neck steadies for a moment, thumb slowing against your skin as his lips linger just a fraction away from yours. his eyes open slowly when he pulls back by the smallest amount, just enough to look at you properly.
just enough that you can still feel him everywhere – his hand at your neck, the heat of him pressed close, the faint brush of his lips still lingering like they haven’t quite decided to leave. and you don’t move away, if anything, you lean into him again, closing the space yourself.
your breath catches as he shifts closer, and suddenly there’s no space left for hesitation. just him, everywhere.
the angle changes as he leans in, guiding you back slightly until your shoulder meets the rough bark of the peach tree behind you, the contact grounding you in a way that makes everything feel even more real.
your fingers find his shirt instinctively, holding on without thinking, and he exhales against your lips like he’s felt that too. the sound is almost unsteady.
and it does something to you.
his lips press firmer against yours, parting them slowly as his tongue traces the seam of your mouth, coaxing you open with a gentle insistence. you yield without resistance, your tongue meeting his in a tentative slide that quickly deepens, tasting the faint salt of his skin mixed with the warmth of his breath. a low hum vibrates from his chest, rumbling through you where your bodies connect.
your hands slide up from his shirt, fingers digging into the firm muscles of his back, pulling him closer until his chest brushes yours. heeseung responds by shifting his weight, one knee nudging between your legs as he settles more fully above you, his hips aligning just enough to let you feel him vividly against you.
he breaks the kiss only to trail his mouth along your jaw, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin before sucking gently, leaving a warm sting that fades into tingling pleasure. his hand slips under your top, calloused palm sliding up your side, pushing the fabric higher, his fingers leaving a trail of shivers wherever he touches you.
chests heaving, breaths short, your foreheads touch. somewhere along this all, the peach in your hand had dropped to the ground, slightly bruised where it landed, the pale skin catching faint light from the moon through the branches above. somehow it looks absurdly normal compared to everything else that just happened.
he exhales slowly through his nose, almost like he’s deciding how honest he wants to be. then with utmost carefulness, he confesses.
“i don’t want tonight to be something you regret tomorrow.”
your throat tightens slightly at that, because it’s the first time all night that the intensity doesn’t feel like it’s pulling you under. of the fact that you’re still here, under his peach tree, with him holding you like this, and everything between you has already crossed a line that neither of you can unsee.
you exhale shakily, and instead of stepping back, your fingers loosen slightly in his shirt, not letting go, just… easing, like the answer has already begun in the way you’re still here.
the breeze shifts through the branches above, soft leaves brushing against each other in a slow, settling sound, and somewhere near your feet the fallen fruit sits half-hidden in the grass.
under the peach tree, heeseung has stood through more summers than he can count, but none of them have ever felt like this – like the place he thought he knew by heart is only now quietly changing meaning, because for the first time, you’re here with him, and everything familiar feels different just because of that.
warnings: mentions of alcohol and smoking, y’all (me) are down fucking bad, if you don’t alr know this, i have a thing for yearning and this might be a very bad exhibit of it but oh well
wc: 4.5k
a/n: jay day is over, but i got this idea late so here it is. happy bday to this man, i would lowkey write the antithesis to feminism for him :’d (/j pls don’t cancel me)
summary: just two people in love….not knowing how to deal with it.
laughter spills out through the half-open windows, warm and careless, folding into the night air like it belongs there.
someone calls jay’s name from inside, too easily, like it’s a word they’ve always had the right to use, like it doesn’t sit differently on your tongue. you linger in the hallway a second longer than you should, fingers brushing absentmindedly against the chipped paint near the switchboard, feeling the faint roughness under your skin.
the april lingers on your skin; only warning you of the warm months ahead. the air moves, but it doesn’t cool you down, it's a mercy in itself that at least it's not like a blowtorch in your face. there’s the faintest scent of florals and woody scents and something ashy mingling in the tiny apartment – someone's perfume, someone else’s cologne, the ghost of the room freshener someone had sprayed hours ago and now clinging stubbornly to curtains and fabric, cigarette smoke curling in from the balcony. the sharp sweetness of spilled drinks and something citrusy from the kitchen.
you stay where you are for a moment longer than necessary, letting it all pass through you without quite touching anything steady inside. the laughter rises again, louder this time, and you catch a glimpse through the happening room – shoulders pressed close, heads tipped toward each other, bodies moving in that loose, careless way people do when they’ve stopped paying attention to how they’re perceived. somewhere in that shifting crowd, jay exists in pieces – his voice here, his hand there, his name threaded through conversations that don’t belong to you.
it all feels distant from where you stand, like you’ve stepped slightly out of time rather than just out of the room.
for a moment, you let yourself wonder if he’s looking for you in here – if his eyes are moving through the crowd the way yours instinctively do, searching for something that feels quieter, more familiar. and then you stop the thought before it can settle too deeply, because jay doesn’t need to look for you.
if anything, that realisation settles like a ball of wet cotton in the pit of your stomach when his eyes find yours anyway. the bottle of beer in his hand lifts halfway to his mouth, pauses just slightly and then tips fully as he takes a long sip. you watch the movement without meaning to, the slow tilt of his head, the way his throat moves as he swallows.
you watch as the bottle lowers from his lips, moist now from the drink and his lopsided smile peeks out, his head titling at you to follow something… him, you realise, when his back turns on you and he makes his way out the balcony door.
the space he left behind closes too quickly, people stepping into it without noticing, conversations stitching themselves back together without pause. someone brushes past you, laughing, the sound too bright, too close, and it breaks whatever stillness you were holding onto.
you push away from the wall before it can root itself any deeper, your hand dropping back to your side as you straighten. the balcony door shuts softly as you make your way toward it.
the handle is warm under your fingers when you press down, the door resisting for a second before giving way with a soft, familiar drag. the air outside wraps around you just the same, warm and steady, but it feels less crowded, less insistent.
and there he is.
leaning against the railing like he belongs to the quiet more than the noise, like he stepped out of it without needing to explain why. his sleeves are rolled up, his posture easy, but there’s something about the way he stands that feels removed, like he’s only half-tethered to everything happening inside.
there’s nothing to be said when you naturally drift towards him and stand by his side, the movement so unremarkable, like something your body has learned without ever needing to think about it. you always find yourself next to him anyway.
the city hums below, steady and unbothered, and the warmth settles into your skin in a way that makes everything feel slower, heavier. you become aware of the small things – the way his sleeve brushes lightly against his wrist when he shifts, the faint scent of his cologne and alcohol cutting through the lingering smoke, the rhythm of his breathing just close enough to notice.
jay doesn’t look at you immediately.
his gaze stays forward, resting somewhere far beyond the buildings, like he’s giving you time to arrive fully, like he understands that the quiet needs to settle before anything else can.
“you stayed longer than i thought you would,” he says after a moment, his voice low, almost blending into the night rather than cutting through it.
you let out a small breath, your shoulder shifting slightly as you lean back against the railing beside him. “it’s your birthday.”
there’s the faintest pause. you turn your head just enough to look at him, caught for a second on the way the dim light traces the line of his profile, the quiet ease in his expression that never quite feels as effortless as it looks.
“i’m only here for the free food, and sunghoon promised me a week’s worth of tiramisu.”
it sounds off the second you say it, too deliberate. like you picked the safest possible reason and held onto it a second too long.
jay goes quiet for a beat. when he finally turns to you – looks at you properly, and you wish he wouldn’t, not like this, not in the soft hum of the warm april night buzzing on your skin – there’s a faint smile there, but it sits differently, like it had to pass through something before reaching the surface.
“tiramisu?” he repeats, softer than before, like he’s weighing the word rather than reacting to it.
you nod, even though you don’t fully look at him, your gaze slipping past his shoulder, out toward the scattered lights of the city. it’s easier that way – easier to pretend this is still light, still something you can fold into a joke if you need to.
“sunghoon said it’d be good,” you add, quieter now, like you’re trying to justify it to yourself as much as to him.
jay hums, a low sound that doesn’t quite commit to agreement. he shifts slightly beside you, one hand coming up to rest along the railing, fingers tapping once, twice absently.
“yeah,” he says after a moment. “he’s been talking about it all week.”
you don’t answer right away. because you both know that’s not the real reason. jay looks away first, back out at the city, his jaw tightening just slightly before it relaxes again.
“hope it was worth it then,” he adds, lighter now, like he’s letting it go.
but it doesn’t feel like he has. you feel the remnants of his afterthought linger in the space, unfinished in a way that makes the quiet after louder than anything that came before. the city hums on below, indifferent, steady, like it has no stake in what’s unfolding here, and maybe that’s why it feels easier to look at it than at him.
your fingers drift to the plastic object resting safely against your lipgloss in your jeans pocket. it’s a small thing, tucked away, easy to ignore if you wanted to – but the edges press faintly into your palm when you curl your hand there, grounding and unsettling all at once.
you don’t take it out; not yet.
beside you, jay shifts slightly, the fabric of his sleeve brushing faintly as he adjusts his grip on the railing. he still isn’t looking at you, his gaze fixed somewhere out in the distance.
“happy 24th by the way, grandpa.”
jay splutters, the sound catching somewhere between disbelief and a laugh, and you finally smile – small at first, then a little more certain when he turns to look at you properly, brows drawn together like he’s deciding whether to be offended or amused.
“grandpa?” he repeats, incredulous, one hand coming up like he might argue the point and then dropping again when he realizes there’s no winning this.
you tilt your head, feigning thought, like you’re genuinely reconsidering it. “mm. actually, yeah. it fits.”
jay lets out a short, disbelieving laugh, turning toward you fully now. “we’re the same age.”
“biologically,” you correct, far too quickly.
he stares at you. “what does that even mean?”
“it means,” you start, pushing off the railing just slightly so you can face him better, “you act like you’re at least ten years older than everyone in that room.”
“because i didn’t want to stand inside and argue with sunoo and sunghoon about whether mint chocolate chip is a real flavour or a personal attack?” he finishes, incredulous, one brow lifting as he looks at you.
you let out a quiet huff, the smile slipping out before you can stop it. “that is a serious debate.”
“it’s not,” he says flatly. “it’s nonsense.”
“see?” you point at him like you’ve proven something. “this is exactly what i mean.”
“what, having opinions?” he shoots back.
“nooo, the fact that you spent half the night making sure everyone else had drinks before you even got one,” you counter, ticking it off like it’s evidence.
jay opens his mouth, then closes it again, a faint crease forming between his brows as he processes that.
“that’s just… good hosting.” he says, but there’s less bite to it now. and just like that, you’re giggling and he’s letting the sound stick to his memory and storing it away.
it doesn’t pass as quickly as it should. your laughter doesn’t dissolve into the night the way the noise from inside does, it splinters into a million star shaped fragments, catching on the edges of everything he’s trying not to look at too closely.
jay notices it in the way he notices most things about you – in quiet accumulation, in moments he doesn’t interrupt. he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to turn it into something else. he just lets it happen, lets it stay, like it’s something worth keeping.
the way it settles into him, quiet but insistent, like something he’ll find himself replaying later without meaning to. not the whole moment, just pieces of it. the tilt of your head, the way your shoulders loosen when you forget to hold yourself so carefully, the sound itself, lighter than anything else you’ve given him tonight.
jay doesn’t interrupt it, doesn’t reach for it either. though every fiber of his soul screams at him to. to say something, anything, that would keep it here a second longer. to fix it in place before it slips into memory, before it becomes one of those moments he replays later, alone, wondering if he imagined the ease of it.
it’s instinct, almost – to respond, to hold, to not let things pass him by. he’s never been the kind of person who hesitates when something matters.
but he finds himself hold back, because he’s learned that the second he names something like this, it changes. it becomes smaller – easier to lose.
and he doesn’t want to lose this.
not when you’ve spent most of the night just out of reach – close enough to find, never close enough to stay.
jay shifts his weight slightly, his shoulder brushing faintly against the railing as he settles more firmly into it. the metal is warm under his hands, grounding, but it does little to quiet the rest of him. his attention keeps drifting back to you, pulled in without effort, like it always is.
your laughter has dissolved now into the warm air. his beer has gone lukewarm.
he notices it absently – the way the condensation has stopped gathering along the glass, the way the taste has flattened into something he doesn’t care for anymore. it’s been sitting untouched for longer than he realized, his hand loosely wrapped around the neck of the bottle like he forgot it was ever there to begin with.
his attention shifts back to you without effort, like it always does, like it doesn’t know how to do anything else when you’re this close. you’ve gone quieter again, the earlier ease folding back into something more contained. it’s subtle, the shift, but he feels it immediately in the way your shoulders settle, the way your gaze drifts past everything instead of landing anywhere.
your fingers have found themselves back in your pocket before you can stop them, curling around the plastic edge, the thin cord looped through it pressing softly against your knuckles.
the texture is familiar now – too familiar for something that was never meant to stay with you this long. and the longer you hold onto it, the harder it becomes to pretend it’s just that – a small, thoughtless thing. the hesitation settles deeper, heavier, until it stops feeling like a choice at all and more like something waiting to be acknowledged.
your hand slips out of your pocket, slower this time, like you’re trying not to disturb the moment too much as it unfolds. the guitar pick rests in your palm, a thin black string threaded through it.
you remember sitting cross-legged on your floor, the hum of a tiny handheld drill filling the room in short, careful bursts, through the plastic pick. your heart had been hammering in your chest, one wrong move and you’d ruin it.
it's small and unassuming in a way that feels almost ridiculous considering how much weight it’s been carrying all evening.
you turn it once in your hand. then stop.
“hey,” you say, softer than you intended, your voice catching just slightly as it settles into the quiet.
jay turns to you ike he was already halfway there, just waiting for something to anchor him. his gaze drops first, to your hand, to the small thing resting open in your palm, before it lifts back to your face, searching without asking.
for a second, you wish he wouldn’t look at you like that.
not when you’re this close to giving something away you can’t take back.
your fingers curl in slightly, instinctively, like you might close your hand around it again, tuck it back into your pocket, pretend this moment didn’t exist. but you don’t. you force them to loosen instead, to stay open, even as your pulse stutters unevenly against your ribs.
“i—” you start, and the word falters almost immediately.
it feels too deliberate now. too close to something you haven’t said out loud; so you don’t finish it.
you just lift your hand a little higher, closing the small distance between you, the string shifting lightly against your skin, the plastic glinting dully under the faint light of the city and the moon.
“happy birthday,” you say instead, quieter this time, like you’re smoothing something over that refuses to settle.
jay doesn’t move right away.
his gaze drops to your hand, to the small thing resting there, and for a second it almost feels like he might miss it.
but then his fingers close around it. he turns it once, the string slipping over his knuckles, the pick catching the faint light before settling back into shadow. his thumb drags over its surface, slower now, like he’s trying to understand it through touch rather than sight.
the black isn’t flat – it shifts. deep, almost liquid, like it’s holding something beneath the surface. when it catches the dim moonlight, it flashes just slightly, a muted onyx sheen that disappears as quickly as it appears.
you swallow.
“it’s not—” you start, then stop, your voice catching somewhere you don’t want it to. you try again, softer this time. “you don’t have to wear it or anything. i just…”
your fingers curl faintly at your side, like you’re trying to hold the rest of it in.
“i just saw it in a shop,” you finish, quieter now, “and it reminded me of you.”
the words settle between you, heavier than you meant them to be. it reminded me of you?! its too late to take back.
jay doesn’t say anything. instead, he looks at it again, slower this time, his thumb tracing the edge before shifting to the thin black string threaded through it. and then, he puts the bottle in his hands, down.
you barely register the soft clink as it meets the ground beside him, your attention pulled entirely to the way his hands move instead. he slips the string open slightly, fingers steady, unhurried, like this isn’t something he has to think twice about.
before you can say anything else, before you can even decide if you should, he lifts it and slides it over his head.
the motion is so, then why does it have your stomach twisting in coils?
the string disappears beneath the collar of his shirt, the pick following a second later, brushing briefly against his skin before settling flat against his chest. for a moment, it catches the low light again before slipping just out of sight.
your gaze lingers a second too long, catching the faint glint of it behind the fabric, the way it rests there like it’s always been his.
heat creeps up your neck before you can stop it, and you look away too quickly, back out toward the city like it might steady something that’s already tipped.
“i said you didn’t have to…” you start, softer now, but the words feel thinner than they did a second ago.
jay exhales quietly, adjusting the back of the string where it sits against his neck, his movements absent but certain.
the plastic feels cool against his skin, only for temporarily, before it adjusts to his body temperature. but he feels his skin burn and singe where it rests – though its nothing to do with the physicality of the object itself.
jay’s fingers linger at the back of his neck a second longer than necessary, adjusting the string though it doesn’t need it, grounding himself in the small, physical motion. it’s easier to focus on that than on the way his chest feels too tight all of a sudden.
he hadn’t expected it to matter this much.
he does not even wholly understand the depth of this gift; he doesn’t think you understand the quiet, aching way he will hold onto something like this out of a kind of tenderness that borders on reverence.
because for him, things like this don’t stay contained – they bloom.
slowly, almost imperceptibly at first – until one day they’re everywhere, threaded through the smallest, most ordinary parts of his life. it will live in the absent moments: the way his fingers will find it without thinking, the way he’ll pause mid-thought just to feel its presence, as if confirming that something real had happened, that you had stood this close and chosen something with him in mind.
it will remind him of you in all the ways he never says out loud – the spaces you leave behind, the quiet way you arrive and rearrange everything without meaning to, the softness he only ever allows himself to feel in fragments when it comes to you. it will become a stand-in for every unfinished sentence, every glance held a second too long, every almost that never quite crossed into something certain.
and he finds himself shying away from the smile that threatens to surface. it presses at the corners of his mouth anyway, quiet and unguarded in a way he isn’t used to when it comes to anything that feels like this.
and still, he doesn’t look away from you.
because he can’t.
not when you’re standing right there, still half-turned away from him like you’re trying to outrun the moment you just created. not when he caught the way your gaze stayed on it a second too long, the way you looked away too quickly after, like you’d seen something you weren’t ready to face.
he wants to tell you it’s fine. that it didn’t land wrong.
that you didn’t have to soften it, or explain it, or stand there like you’re waiting for it to be returned to you in pieces.
but the words don’t come out the way they should.
instead, he exhales, slow and steady, letting the silence hold its shape between you without trying to fix it. because even in this quiet stretch, there’s something unmistakably full about it – something that doesn’t need to be rushed into clarity to exist properly.
his hand drops back to his side slowly, fingers brushing once against the fabric of his shirt where the pick rests underneath, like he’s confirming it’s still there, like it didn’t just appear out of nowhere. the faint outline presses back against his touch, real and solid, and it does nothing to steady the way the ground threatens to disbalance him in the moment.
you keep your hand at your side, fingers slightly curled even though there’s nothing left to hold, like your body hasn’t caught up with the fact that the object is gone from it. you risk a glance at him.
he’s not looking away.
and you don’t know what to do with that.
your throat tightens slightly. because you’re suddenly aware of how small the explanation you gave him sounds in your own head now. how carefully you’d tried to make it just a gift, just a passing thought turned physical. how you’d stood there pretending it wasn’t loaded with anything more than intention.
how do you tell him you love him?
the thought doesn’t arrive gently. it doesn’t ease in or wait for permission. it just… surfaces, sudden and uninvited, like it had been sitting right beneath everything you were already feeling and finally pushed through.
and it almost makes you laugh because it feels impossible.
because “love” doesn’t fit here in any clean way you can reach for. it feels too small for what you’re standing inside right now, and somehow also too heavy to hold without it collapsing under its own meaning. the word itself feels strange in your mouth even as you think it – overused, hollow in places where it should feel full, worn down by every way it’s been said and taken back and never quite lived up to.
you try to push it aside, to step around it the way you’ve stepped around everything else tonight, but it doesn’t move. it stays right there, stubborn and quiet, shaping everything without asking.
because it isn’t just this moment.
it’s every moment you didn’t name. every time you noticed him before anyone else did. every time you remembered something small about him that no one would’ve thought mattered. every time you stayed just a little longer than you needed to, without admitting why.
“i love it,” he says, and it feels like fate might be playing cruel games with you, “thank you, (y/n).”
and when he says your name like that, it doesn’t just identify you, doesn’t just mark you out from the noise or the room or the night. it's like he’s holding it carefully in his mouth for a second before letting it go, like he’s aware of it in a way you aren’t used to people being aware of you.
“it’s…uh—it’s nothing, really…”
the words come out softer than you intend, a little uneven at the edges, like they’ve slipped past whatever restraint you were trying to hold in place. you hate how quickly they default to that – how you try to shrink things the moment they start to feel too visible, too real, too seen.
jay looks at you for a second longer than necessary, like he’s deciding whether to accept that version of what you’ve just said or gently push against it. the night air moves between you both, warm and unhurried, carrying distant laughter from inside that feels like it belongs to another version of this moment entirely.
then, quietly, “stay a little longer.”
it lands somewhere in between a request and a plea. if you looked into his eyes right now, you would know its was more of a plea, you would know it was his fervent desire to keep make you stay a little longer. god, jay wishes you would stay longer.
before you can answer, the moment is interrupted – your name being called from inside the house, muffled through the open balcony door, threaded through music and voices and the careless continuation of the party.
it pulls you back into yourself a little too quickly; reality reasserting its shape.
you glance over your shoulder instinctively, then back at him, a small exhale leaving you as your body already starts to turn, already starts to choose motion over stillness.
“i should—” you begin, though you don’t finish it.
you move past him slowly, the space between you tightening for just a second as you do, close enough that you feel the warmth of him, the faint trace of what he’s wearing, the quiet presence of him that somehow still lingers even when he isn’t speaking.
and then almost without thinking, almost like it happens before you’ve fully decided to do it, you stop.
you turn to him and step in just enough to close the last bit of distance, your hand not quite touching him, your breath catching slightly at the finality of it all, and you press a kiss to his cheek, well, you had assumed it would be his cheek, but it lands lower than you intended at first, somewhere along the line of his jaw.
your lips barely stay there long enough to register it as a decision. just a brief press of warmth, soft and unguarded, before you’re already pulling back, already stepping away from what you’ve done like distance might undo the fact of it.
for a second, everything pauses in a way that feels almost too quiet for a house full of people just behind you. and then you turn abruptly and leave.
jay is left standing there in a way that feels too still for everything that just happened.
his hand lifts without thinking, only to hover briefly near his jaw like he’s confirming the reality of it. the skin there is still warm. too warm in a way that has nothing to do with the weather, nothing to do with the noise inside that waits for him, nothing to do with anything that can be explained cleanly if he tries.
his gaze drifts toward the doorway you disappeared through, but you’re already gone, swallowed by the house before he can find even the trace of you again.
still, he doesn’t move right away.
not for a moment.
not until the pick beneath his shirt shifts faintly with his breath, grounding him back into his body in a way that feels almost unfairly intimate now – like everything you’ve given him tonight has started layering itself into him without asking permission.
the april air moves around him, warm and unbothered, slipping through the open balcony like it knows nothing has changed, like it doesn’t recognise the way something has just been left behind in it – something small, irreversible, and impossibly present, even after you’re gone.
bro what is the peach scene from tsitp??? 😭😭 i’ve only watched the first season of that series .....
edit: the fic was loosely inspired from the kdrama 'once upon a small town' !! the peach picking scene was def inspired somewhat from it ... is that what people are talking about?
btw lowkey thanks to everyone who rb'd the jay fic and left their comments, so grateful to you all and genuinely happy that you took the time to read and share your thoughts <3
pairing: niki x gn! reader (younger niki x older reader)
genre: fluff, a little angst
warning: so much yearning, niki self doubts a bit, pomegranates as metaphors but not the indecent kind !!!!
wc: 3k+
a/n: word vomit after ages !!!! umm hello, i had to write about a yearning niki, sumn about him being younger but decisively mature (i can't explain it) made me want to write this. i also totally watched a yt tutorial on how to peel pomegranates to write this better.
niki has never handled a pomegranate without breaking it wrong.
he has seen his mother do it, when he was still a child, rushing home on sunny afternoons to be met with cool glasses of sweet homemade drinks and pomegranate seeds glistening in the late afternoon sun like red rubies.
back then, the fruit had felt like magic.
he would drop his bag by the door, still breathless from running, and watch from the kitchen threshold as she worked. she never cut straight through it. her fingers would trace the crown first, scoring the skin lightly, turn it in her palms, and it would fall apart obediently. the seeds would remain whole, clustered like secrets kept safe inside careful hands.
he never understood how she did it.
whenever he tried, the rind split unevenly. the pressure of his grip would bruise the flesh. juice would splatter across the counter, across his wrists, across the floor if he wasn’t careful. he would stand there, sticky and vaguely ashamed, staring at the mess as though the fruit had betrayed him.
years passed. he grew taller and stronger. his hands steadier in everything else – dance, instruments, decisions, the way he carried himself through rooms that once intimidated him. he stopped thinking about pomegranates altogether, as though they belonged to a smaller, softer version of himself.
until of course, you came into his life.
he had taken the knife a little too decisively, the blade sinking past the skin instead of merely grazing it, and the faint cracking sound that followed already a warning he had ignored. turning the fruit in his palm with more confidence than finesse, he had pressed his thumbs into the scored line as though he could coax it open through insistence alone, and the rind had given way in a jagged split that ran deeper than intended, dislodging a cluster that collapsed under the force of his grip.
a bead of juice slips out first, then several, then a thin red spill that traces the heel of his hand before dripping onto the counter in uneven droplets. he adjusts, attempts to pry it apart more gently now, under your gaze that unnerves him more than it should.
but the damage has been done – membranes torn instead of eased back, seeds loosened from their chambers, some still perfect and gleaming, others ruptured into soft pulp against his fingers. the scent rises sharper this way, metallic-sweet and almost overwhelming, clinging to his skin as he works to salvage what he can, separating intact jewels from the crushed ones with careful fingertips, jaw set in concentration.
by the time he finishes, the wooden chopping board is freckled red, his hands stained deeper than he intended, and the fruit lies open not gracefully revealed but undeniably split open haphazardly.
you watch him from across the counter, sleeves rolled back, hair pulled away from your face in that absentminded way you have when you are focused on something simple. there is no urgency in you. you have cut your own fruit cleanly, methodically, scoring along the natural ridges before easing it apart as though you were parting silk rather than skin. the seeds sit obedient in your palm, glistening but contained.
niki tries not to stare at the contrast.
he tells himself it doesn’t matter. that fruit is fruit, that precision is learned, that a little mess has never frightened him before. he has built entire versions of himself from trial and error, from bruised pride and blistered palms, from hours spent repeating the same motion until it obeyed him.
and yet under the quiet steadiness of your gaze, something in him feels younger than he has in years.
you move closer, not to correct him, not to take the knife from his hand, but simply to rinse your fingers under the tap. the sound of water running fills the small space between you. you speak about nothing in particular – the sweetness of the fruit this season, how your grandmother used to soak the seeds in cold water before serving them, and it is the ease in your voice that undoes him. there is no performance in you. there is no expectation of him that you demand either.
he glances at your hands again, buried within the towel you dry it on, a little string of droplets remaining stubborn at the curve of your knuckles, catching the light before surrendering to the fabric.
you do not seem bothered by the lingering evidence of water. it is such a small thing, the way you allow moments to finish themselves instead of forcing them to conclusion, but it unsettles him more than any sharp word could. he is used to pressure – to filling silence, to anticipating what is needed of him before it is spoken – and yet you stand there beside him with no expectation hanging in the air, no invisible checklist he must measure himself against. you are simply present, speaking softly about sweetness and seasons as though this, too, is enough.
and he becomes acutely aware of his own hands, still sticky and stained at the cuticles. he wipes them on a towel, suddenly careful, as though gentleness is something he might practice into existence if he tries hard enough. he wonders if this is what it feels like to stand at the edge of something not because you are unprepared, but because you are aware.
and his heart aches in a way that feels almost disproportionate to the quietness of the room.
but before any of that settles fully into him, he turns to the sink, almost instinctively, as though water might clarify what he cannot yet name.
the tap runs cool over his skin, diluting the red into faint, wandering streams that spiral toward the drain. he rubs his hands together more carefully this time, thumbs grazing over his palms in slow circles, watching the stain fade from vivid to blush to nearly nothing. he is so focused on the act of cleaning – on making himself presentable again, steady again, that he doesn’t notice you step closer until the water is shut off and the air shifts with your proximity.
he reaches for the towel, but you are already there.
you take his hands without ceremony, without asking, as though it is the most natural continuation of the moment. the towel is damp from your touch, and you wrap it around his fingers gently, pressing instead of scrubbing. you dry between each knuckle with unhurried precision, dabbing at the curve of his thumb, smoothing along the heel of his palm where the juice had gathered deepest.
it is not intimate in any overt way, not something anyone would look twice at – and yet his breath catches all the same.
he stands very still.
your hands are sure but light, rotating his wrist slightly to catch the dampness seeping across the line of his wrist, and there is something devastating about the trust embedded in such a small gesture. and in that quiet exchange he feels a warmth rise that has nothing to do with embarrassment.
he flexes his fingers against the towel, studying the faint crimson shadow along his cuticles as though it might reveal something about him. he thinks about how easily he presses – into practice, into arguments, into love. how instinctively he leans forward, eager and hungry to understand everything at once, to hold it completely. and standing beside you, with your unhurried movements and your quiet certainty, he wonders if perhaps understanding is not about possession at all.
the realization humbles him. not because you make him feel small, but because you make him feel seen in ways he has not yet learned to see himself. you do not comment on the mess he has made. you do not tease him for the uneven split. you simply reach for one of the intact seeds from his side of the board and taste it, as though nothing about this moment is flawed.
he is younger, yes, but not in the way people think. he’s not naive nor ignorant. his hunger does not come from indecency; it comes from curiosity so deep it borders on reverence. he does not want to consume you to possess you. he wants to understand you in layers, in sections, in careful dissections of who you are when you are laughing, when you are quiet, when you are thinking too hard about something you will not say aloud.
he feels, suddenly, the weight of the three years he once dismissed. not as a barrier, not as something insurmountable, but as a quiet distance he wants to cross thoughtfully. there are things you know – about patience, about allowing, about letting moments end on their own – that he is only beginning to learn. and instead of bristling against that truth, he finds himself aching to grow into it. to meet you not with restless hands and urgent pressure, but with steadiness.
and yet, when you peel the pomegranate with that quiet assurance – scoring the skin exactly where it yields, easing it open without tearing, keeping the seeds intact and luminous, something tightens in his chest.
because he can feel the difference.
you make it look easy.. the fruit parts for you as though it has been waiting to be known.
he watches, and for the first time, the confidence he carries so naturally falters just a little.
he is not insecure in himself. he knows his own strength, his own presence. he knows the way people look at him, the way he moves through rooms with a certainty that feels earned. but with you, certainty becomes something more fragile. not because you diminish him, but because you reveal how much there still is to learn.
he wonders if you think the same about him – that he is not wrong, just unfinished. that he is not incapable, only still finding the right place to press. but doubt slips in anyway, quiet and insistent, asking questions he would never voice aloud.
am i too rough with you? too eager? too unseasoned in the ways that matter?
you have lived longer inside your own skin. you have known heartbreaks he can only imagine, have built habits of patience from storms he never weathered. when you speak about the past, there is weight there. he listens and feels the years between you not as numbers, but as texture. as something he cannot fast-forward through no matter how badly he wants to catch up.
he is confident in himself, but with you he becomes aware of time – of the difference between ripeness and readiness. he fears sometimes that he is a fruit picked just slightly too soon, vibrant but not yet deepened, still sharp where he wishes he could be mellow.
there was a time he used to scoff at the idea that three years could mean anything at all. three years was nothing, he had thought – barely the difference between two school grades, barely enough to justify the raised brows people offered when they realized you were older.
he had worn that belief like armor, almost amused by the suggestion that time could stand between two people who fit so easily side by side. but in quiet moments like these, when the world softened into something almost unbearably intimate, he would really look at you and there would be faint traces of thought that lingered on your face even when you were at rest, like lines formed not from age but from consideration, from having felt deeply and chosen restraint anyway.
when you listened, you did so with your entire being; when you spoke, your words seemed filtered through experiences he had not yet accumulated. and it struck him then that you had lived three more years of loving, of losing, of rebuilding, of understanding your own storms.
he does not resent those three years.
he had always believed growth was automatic, that time alone hardened a person into something steadier. but watching you, he understands that growth is chosen. that patience is carved. he does not know the full stories, but he sees their imprint in the way your gaze sometimes drifts inward, thoughtful and self-contained.
and he wants, fiercely, to be someone who does not feel like an interruption to that depth.
there are moments when he stands beside you and feels entirely capable – taller, stronger, certain in his presence, and then there are moments like this, when you peel a pomegranate without splitting a single seed, when your movements are so assured they seem instinctual, and he feels the subtle ache of wanting to match you not just physically, but internally. he does not want to be the boy who stands slightly behind, trying to catch up to a rhythm he cannot quite hear yet.
he wonders if loving you will be like something that stains him quietly but permanently, until even when the surface looks clean there is still a blush beneath the skin.
you gather the seeds you’ve freed so neatly into a bowl, the small red jewels clinking softly against ceramic, and he notices how none of them are crushed. whole ruby red droplets. when he tips his own uneven harvest beside yours, the contrast is undeniable – your careful constellations beside his scattered spill. some of his seeds are split, leaking their sweetness too soon, their color blooming into the spaces between.
he swallows.
he does not want to be the one who splits things open before their time.
the thought presses into him with a tenderness that almost hurts. because the truth is, he has always moved forward with momentum. when he loves, he does so completely. when he wants to understand, he reaches until his hands are full. he does not know how to be half-hearted.
and he fears sometimes, in the softest corners of himself, that he is still bright and brilliant and just a little too new.
he looks at the faint red staining both your hands now. perhaps he will always bruise a few seeds before learning exactly where to press. perhaps he will always feel that slight flicker of doubt when he catches the quiet wisdom in your expression.
when you press a small cluster of seeds into his palm, he does not close his fist this time. he lets them sit there, fragile and luminous, resisting the urge to squeeze. he brings them to his mouth and pauses, glancing at you as though awaiting instruction he will never admit he wants.
and in that gaze there is no condescension, no indulgent amusement at his youth.
he bites down gently.
the seeds burst, tart and sweet all at once, and he inhales slowly, letting the taste linger rather than disappear in the quick swallow he is accustomed to. he had never paid attention to fruit like this before.
he has never paid attention to anyone like this before.
there is something humbling about learning to savor. something vulnerable in admitting that desire does not have to be frantic to be real. he feels it in the way his shoulders relax under your quiet scrutiny, in the way his pulse steadies when you smile.
he wants to learn all of you like this.
not in reckless handfuls, not in desperate gulps, but seed by seed, conversation by conversation, touch by touch that carries weight because it is chosen rather than seized. he wants to know the stories you hesitate before telling, the habits you formed before he ever stepped into your orbit, the scars that shaped your patience. he does not want to conquer your world; he wants to walk through it carefully enough that nothing cracks beneath him.
and yet, beneath that discipline, the yearning remains.
it hums in him when your shoulder brushes his as you reach for another bowl. it coils low in his stomach when you laugh at something small he says, the sound warm and unguarded. it flares when you lick a stray drop of juice from your thumb without thinking, unaware of the way his gaze darkens not with lust, but with an almost overwhelming need to be close enough to know what sweetness feels like when it is not filtered through fruit.
he wonders sometimes if you see it – the way he reins himself in, the way he chooses restraint not because he lacks desire but because he respects it too much to cheapen it. he is younger, yes, but his devotion is not shallow. it is expansive, stretching beyond the immediate into something that feels startlingly permanent.
he lifts your hand gently, turning it so the light catches the glimmering stain at your fingertips, and for a moment he allows himself to imagine a future where his movements are as sure as yours, where his hunger is no longer frantic but focused, where his confidence does not waver in the presence of your depth.
you glance at it, then back at him. neither of you pulls away.
he does not want to outgrow you. he wants to grow with you.
and if loving you means learning to open the fruit without wasting its sweetness, means standing in the quiet and asking himself ‘ am i doing this right?’ – then he will keep asking. he will keep refining. he will let the red stain his hands as proof that he is trying, that he is present, that he is not afraid of the weight you carry.
because the truth he will never quite confess aloud is this: he is not afraid of being younger – he is afraid of loving you poorly. afraid of rushing what should be ripened, of mistaking intensity for depth, of letting his wanting outrun his wisdom. and so he will choose the slower becoming.
he will choose the careful hands, the attentive mouth, the steady gaze. he will love you the way you open a pomegranate until one day the sweetness between you spills free not because it was torn loose, but because he finally learned exactly where to press.
warnings: slow burn, makeout, suggestive, lots of avoidance, lmk if i missed sumn | yunah and heeseung are siblings, also yunah ftw she knows her brother isn't a bad guy :>
a/n: i hate the rushed ending. pls enjoy TT-TT
part one.
the heat settles over the town like something alive and pulsating.
the late afternoon sunlight is still bearable though. the road outside the small bus station shimmers faintly where the asphalt has warmed too much under the sun, and even the breeze that occasionally stirs through the trees feels thick and slow.
you step off the bus with a small grunt, dragging your suitcase down the narrow metal steps while trying not to lose your balance. the movement immediately makes the warmth cling more stubbornly to your skin, the back of your neck already damp the second you step off the air-conditioned bus.
for a second you simply stand there on the curb, squinting slightly while your eyes adjust to the brightness.
the station is a small building, one shaded bench, a vending machine that hums quietly against the wall, and a short stretch of sidewalk that leads toward the main road cutting through the town.
you pull your phone out of your bag and check the last message yunah sent you: he’ll pick you up from the station, don’t let him take monopoly over the aux tho.
her confidence about the situation had been almost suspicious. the idea of her older brother picking you up had felt strangely formal when she mentioned it, even though she had waved it off like it was the most obvious arrangement in the world.
“he’s home anyway,” she had said. “and it’s like a twenty minute drive.”
standing here now, you feel a small knot of anticipation settle in your stomach. you’ve technically met yunah’s brother before, but that had been years ago.
your mind drifts back to that day automatically: yunah’s first semester move-in, the chaotic dorm hallway filled with boxes and confused freshmen. her older brother carrying half her belongings upstairs while you hauled your own boxes.
you had barely spoken to him then.
mostly you had stood awkwardly off to the side, trying not to feel like you were in the way.
since then, he had existed mostly as a distant character in yunah’s stories. sometimes she spoke about him fondly, sometimes with dramatic irritation, but always with the comfortable familiarity of someone describing family.
you had seen pictures occasionally too, usually when yunah scrolled through her phone while telling some unrelated story. but pictures are different from real life, and you’re suddenly very aware that you’re about to live in his house for six months.
the thought makes you shift your weight slightly where you’re standing. frankly speaking, this hadn’t been your first plan.
when the internship placement email arrived a few weeks ago, you had been sitting cross-legged on the floor of your apartment, surrounded by notebooks and printed research articles, your laptop balanced precariously on the coffee table. at first you hadn’t even reacted properly, you had just stared at the name of the clinic and the town attached to it, trying to place it on the mental map you kept of veterinary programs across the country.
it was one of those clinics that your professor had spoken highly of when he forwarded the placement opportunity, mentioning the experience you would gain working with injured animals over extended treatment periods would be an asset. so it had credibility, that wasn’t the issue. the issue was the location.
which had been enough to convince you to apply without thinking too hard about the practical details. but the practical details, it turned out, were where the problem began.
you had assumed – somewhat naively – that there would be student housing nearby, or at least a couple of short-term rentals meant for interns cycling through the clinic. you opened every rental site you could find, filtered results by distance, price, availability. you even checked the bulletin boards for nearby universities just in case someone was subletting a room for the summer.
the results had been… underwhelming.
there were a few bed-and-breakfast places in town, charming in that quaint, small-town way that looked nice in pictures but charged nightly rates that made your stomach twist when you imagined multiplying them by six months. one short-term rental appeared promising until you noticed it was already booked through the entire summer.
everything else was either too far away or far too expensive for an internship stipend.
for a couple of days, you convinced yourself you could make the commute work from the nearest larger town. you mapped the drive, calculated fuel costs, estimated how long it would take to get to the clinic before morning rounds started.
then you imagined finishing a twelve-hour shift and driving an hour back in the dark after dealing with injured animals all day. the idea had felt… unrealistic, even in your highly ambitious mindset.
which was how you ended up calling yunah.
yunah had listened patiently for approximately thirty seconds before cutting you off with a loud, incredulous laugh.
“you’re joking.”
“what?” you had asked defensively.
“you’re literally going to my hometown and didn’t think to ask me about where you’re staying?”
“your hometown?” you had repeated, momentarily thrown off.
and that is somewhat the story behind how you end up in this situation. the conversation had only spiraled from there. yunah telling you that her parents were traveling all summer, that the house was practically empty, and that the only person staying there was her brother because he was working remotely. you had immediately protested, insisting that showing up to live with her older brother for half a year sounded like a terrible imposition, but yunah had waved off the concern with the confidence of someone who had already solved the problem in her head.
and when the next day she had texted you “i already asked him, he said it was fine.” that had been it. you remember staring at the message for a long moment, your phone balanced loosely in your hand while your brain tried to process the simplicity of it.
and that is how you find yourself now, standing under the slow, heavy heat of a summer afternoon, suitcase handle digging faintly into your palm, waiting for your best friend’s older brother to pick you up from a bus station that looks like it hasn’t changed much in the last twenty years.
it still feels a little unreal.
six months ago, this town hadn’t meant anything to you beyond being a name on a map. now it’s where you’ll be waking up every morning before sunrise to bike or drive to the clinic, where you’ll be spending long afternoons, where you’ll probably spend late nights hunched over research notes trying to prove to yourself that you deserve the placement your professor had recommended you for.
and apparently, it’s also where you’ll be living in yunah’s childhood home.
with her brother.
the two of you had so far existed in that strange in-between space where you technically know of each other but don’t really know each other at all. he’s always been a peripheral figure in your life. you know small fragments about him without ever having had a real conversation yourself. that he works in music, that he travels often, that he has a habit of disappearing for months when work gets busy and then showing up again like he was never gone.
beyond that, he has always remained a little vague in your mind. which is probably why the idea of living under the same roof suddenly feels strange in a way you can’t quite name.
the heat presses lazily around you again as you shift your weight, the wheels of your suitcase scraping lightly across the pavement when you adjust your grip. the afternoon sun has begun dipping slightly lower now, the light softening just enough that the air feels less blinding than it had when the bus first pulled in.
there’s a small convenience store across the road with faded signage in the window, and somewhere farther down the street a dog barks once before settling again. the whole place has the slow, unhurried rhythm of a town that isn’t particularly concerned with time passing.
you check your phone again out of habit, debating whether you should call the new contact in your phone that yunah had passed on to you: heeseung (yunah’s brother)
you had saved the contact but never actually typed out a message. now your thumb hovers over the call button for a second before you sigh quietly and lower the phone again. he was probably on the way anyway. besides, you could just wait in the station, it was cool there.
for a place that’s technically a bus station, the area feels strangely calm. no crowd of waiting passengers, no rushing commuters weaving through each other with bags slung over their shoulders. just the empty bench, the quiet road, and the faint sounds of summer humming lazily through the trees.
the slow pace of it all makes the moment feel suspended somehow, like time has stretched itself out for a while before deciding to move again.
you don’t have to spend too long waiting though, because not even five minutes after you’ve made yourself somewhat comfortable on the cool metal bench, the low hum of an approaching car drifts into the quiet.
the sound is soft at first, tires rolling over sun-warmed asphalt somewhere beyond the station lot. a second later, a sedan turns the corner slowly and pulls into the small parking area, gravel crunching faintly beneath the wheels as it eases into one of the empty spaces.
you straighten without realizing you’re doing it. the engine cuts off, and for a moment the car just sits there, heat shimmering faintly above the hood. then the driver’s side door opens.
the person who steps out pauses briefly beside the car, stretching one arm over his head in the absent way people do after sitting for too long. the movement is loose and unhurried, like he isn’t particularly worried about being late.
it takes you a second to recognize him.
not because he looks completely different, but because memories from years ago never quite align perfectly with the person standing in front of you now. still, the height gives him away almost immediately.
even from across the lot he’s noticeably tall, broad-shouldered in a way that makes the simple black t-shirt he’s wearing sit easily against his frame. his hair is slightly longer than you remember, a deep reddish brown shade that catches the late afternoon light and softens at the edges where the sun hits it. the strands fall loosely around his face, brushing his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose.
as he shuts the car door and starts walking toward you, the movement pushes some of the hair back from his face, revealing the clean line of his jaw and the small glint of silver along his ear where a couple of piercings catch the light. up close, the details settle in more clearly – the smooth slope of his nose, the calm, almost thoughtful set of his expression, the faint sheen of warmth along his skin from the summer heat.
you are momentarily startled at the way he towers over you.
it’s not something you had fully registered when he stepped out of the car, but now that he’s standing a few steps away and steadily closing the distance between you, the difference becomes impossible to ignore. your brain remembers yunah mentioning it casually once or twice – something about her brother being annoyingly tall – but memories rarely prepare you for the reality of someone’s physical presence.
he stops in front of you, and instinctively you find yourself tilting your chin up just a little to meet his eyes.
his eyes move over your face in quiet recognition, thoughtful rather than scrutinizing, like he’s piecing together something familiar.
“you must be (y/n),” he says after a moment.
he has such a soft voice, you think. it’s not what you expected at all. somehow, the image yunah’s stories had built in your head had always been accompanied by something louder, more teasing, the way she described him when she was annoyed with him. but the voice that reaches you now is low and even, warm in a quiet sort of way that settles easily into the still afternoon air.
for a second you simply nod, realizing a moment too late that you should probably answer with actual words.
“yeah,” you say quickly, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear more out of nervous habit than anything else. “hi.”
you feel strangely aware of yourself standing there – of the heat clinging lightly to the back of your neck after the bus ride, of the way your fingers are still curled around the handle of your suitcase, of the fact that you’ve been staring at yunah’s older brother for a few seconds longer than is probably socially appropriate.
he doesn’t seem bothered by the silence, though.
if anything, he looks perfectly comfortable standing in it, the warm afternoon air settling quietly between the two of you. his gaze lingers on your face for a moment longer, thoughtful rather than searching, like he’s simply placing you properly in a memory that had been half-formed until now.
“yunah has mentioned you quite a lot,” he says after a moment, his tone easy. this piece of information makes you burn a little.
you feel a faint warmth creep up the back of your neck that has nothing to do with the lingering summer heat. yunah talks about a lot of things, that much you know, but hearing that she’s apparently talked about you enough for her brother to recognize you so easily still feels oddly exposing.
“oh,” you say, the word slipping out before you can think of something more articulate. “hopefully only good things.”
a small flicker of amusement passes over his face, subtle but unmistakable.
“mostly,” he says. the answer is so calmly delivered that it takes you a second to realize he’s teasing you just a little.
“she talks about you like you’re the reason she survived college,” he says, the hint of a smile appearing now at the corner of his mouth. that does absolutely nothing to help the warmth spreading across your face.
you huff a quiet laugh, suddenly very aware of how long you’ve been standing there under his gaze.
“well,” you say, adjusting your grip on the handle of your suitcase out of habit. “she exaggerates.”
the moment settles into another quiet pause after that, though it feels easier now, the edges of the first-meeting awkwardness slowly softening into something more natural. then his eyes drop briefly to the suitcase beside you.
“have you been waiting long?” he asks.
you shake your head. “no, the bus just got here.”
he nods once in acknowledgement before stepping forward, and before you can react, he reaches down and takes hold of the suitcase handle, lifting it upright with an easy motion.
“oh— you don’t have to—” you start instinctively.
“it’s fine,” he says, already pulling it gently toward the car.
its almost like it hadn’t even crossed his mind that the gesture might be something worth asking about first.
you watch for half a second as he turns back toward the parking lot, guiding the suitcase behind him across the sun-warmed pavement. when he realizes you’re still standing there, he glances back over his shoulder slightly and nods toward the car.
“come on,” he says simply.
there’s something oddly reassuring about the casual way he says it. you fall into step beside him a moment later, the small gravel lot crunching softly beneath your shoes as the two of you walk toward the car.
the ride itself is a quiet one, he lets the radio play softly, turning the airconditioning on as he pulls out of the small lot slowly, the tires rolling back onto the narrow road that cuts through the town. through the passenger window you catch small glimpses of it as you pass – the convenience store with its faded sign, the sleepy row of houses set a little farther back from the street, the trees leaning lazily over the road as if they’ve been there longer than anything else.
almost immediately, you can see how green it is here.
it’s unlike the sort of manicured parks or narrow strips between concrete sidewalks so common in the city. here, the trees stretch thickly along the roadside, their branches reaching over the narrow asphalt like they’ve claimed the space long before the road was ever built. bushes grow unchecked along fences, and every few houses there seems to be a yard spilling over with plants that have long since outgrown whatever order someone originally tried to impose on them.
you find yourself leaning slightly toward the window without realizing it, watching the way the sunlight filters through the leaves overhead as the car moves beneath them. the late afternoon light catches in patches across the road, shifting in and out of shadow as you pass under each tree.
“you’ll probably get used to it pretty quickly,” heeseung’s voice cuts through your thoughts, glancing briefly in your direction before returning his attention to the road. you turn slightly in your seat.
“used to what?”
“the quiet,” he says simply. “people who come from the city usually notice it first.”
you glance back out the window, watching the town drift past.
“…it’s kind of nice,” you admit.
the corner of his mouth lifts faintly again, that small almost-smile appearing before fading just as quickly. “yeah,” he says. “it is.”
the road curves gently ahead of you, leading out of the small station area and deeper into town. a few cars pass in the opposite direction, but otherwise the streets remain mostly empty, the late afternoon sunlight stretching long shadows across the pavement.
you rest your elbow lightly against the door, trying not to feel overly aware of the fact that you’re sitting in a car with someone who will now be part of your daily life for the next half year.
beside you, heeseung drives with the quiet focus of someone familiar with every turn of the road. one hand rests loosely against the steering wheel while the other shifts briefly to adjust the air conditioning before returning to the wheel again.
“yunah told me to let you take her room upstairs,” he says after another minute, his voice carrying easily through the soft hum of the car. “said you’d probably like the window view. it faces the backyard,” he explains. “there’s a lot of trees back there.”
“oh,” you say. “that sounds nice.”
he nods again, the easy quiet between you returning as the car continues down the sunlit road.
outside, the town stretches slowly around you, unfamiliar but calm in a way that makes the knot of uncertainty in your chest loosen just a little.
you lean your head lightly against the seat, watching the road unfold ahead of you. and somewhere in the back of your mind, a quiet realization settles in alongside the hum of the car and the warmth of the fading afternoon.
for the next six months, this road, and the house waiting at the end of it – is going to be home.
part two.
the house sits a little deeper into the neighborhood than you expect.
it’s not even that big. in fact, the first thing you notice as heeseung turns into the narrow gravel driveway is how modest it looks compared to the image your mind had built from yunah’s casual descriptions. the structure is simple, low-roofed and warm-toned, the wood along the outer walls softened by years of sun and weather. the roof tiles are a muted charcoal color, their edges slightly uneven in the way older houses tend to be, and the wide front windows reflect patches of sky through the branches of the trees surrounding the yard.
what stands out first, though, isn’t the house; it’s the yard. a peach tree stretches over part of the garden, its branches heavy with bright fruits that hang like small lanterns among thick green leaves.
“they’re not ready yet,” heeseung says, tracing your gaze across the yard, adding as he reaches for the door handle. “if you eat them now they taste awful.”
“you’ll know when they are though,” he continues easily, stepping out of the car. “they start falling everywhere.” he explains, already setting your suitcase gently onto the gravel.
heeseung carries your suitcase inside without much ceremony, setting it down near the staircase before giving you a quick tour of the main floor. the kitchen opens directly into the living room. a guitar rests on a stand near the far wall, beside a small amp and a pair of speakers. the couch is large and worn in the way furniture becomes after years of people sitting in the same spots.
“your room’s upstairs,” he adds a moment later. “second door on the left.”
the room is simple but comfortable. yunah’s presence is still visible in small ways – a few books stacked neatly on the desk near the window, a corkboard with faded photos pinned along the edge, and a soft blanket folded over the corner of the bed. the window itself is wide, just like he had mentioned in the car, and when you walk a few steps closer you immediately see what he meant about the view.
the backyard stretches out behind the house in a patchwork of green and shade, the branches of the peach tree reaching just close enough that some of the leaves brush lightly against the glass when the breeze moves through them.
“you can move things around if you want,” heeseung says from the doorway, his tone casual. “yunah left most of her stuff, but she won’t care.”
you shake your head quickly. “no, it’s okay. it’s really nice.”
he studies the room for a second as if checking that everything is in order before nodding once. “bathroom’s down the hall if you want to shower. dinner shouldn’t take too long.”
the bathroom is small but bright, the last of the evening light filtering through the frosted window above the sink. the tiles are cool beneath your feet when you step inside, and for a moment you simply lean against the counter, letting out a quiet breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
the day has been longer than it felt while it was happening. bus rides always blur time strangely, and the lingering warmth from the road still seems to cling faintly to your skin. the shower is exactly what you need.
you turn the water on and wait a second for the flow to even before stepping beneath the stream, tilting your head back as the heat runs down the back of your neck and shoulders. almost immediately, the tightness that had built up through the day begins to loosen.
you reach for the bottle of body wash sitting in the small rack against the tile wall, squeezing a little into your palm before the scent reaches you. it takes a second for your brain to place it.
clean, slightly citrusy, with a light woody scent underneath – something warm that lingers just at the edge of being sweet. for the first few minutes you don’t really think about anything at all. it’s the same scent you caught earlier from heeseung.
eventually your thoughts drift somewhere more practical; your first day tomorrow at the clinic. you mentally start sorting through everything you’ll need – the early start time, the paperwork you packed in the front pocket of your bag, the notebook you always carry. you try to remember the name of the senior vet your professor mentioned in his email, the one who usually supervises interns during the first few weeks.
you already know that it's just a tiny clinic run by one of your seniors from university and about three or four more attending vets, one of whom you know is an intern. your mom had not been particularly happy about the location, nor the scale of the clinic, preferring you to join one of those big firms in the city. but your professor had been convincing enough and eventually your mother had relented, though not without reminding you several times that you were “wasting an opportunity.”
you tilt your head slightly under the spray of the shower, letting the water run through your hair while the memory drifts past. for the most part, you had tried not to let the comments bother you.
you’ve always been serious about your studies, that much is true. long hours in the library, meticulous notes, research papers that stretched late into the night while your roommates went out for dinner or drinks. but that had never meant you were chasing prestige for the sake of it.
you rinse the last of the soap from your arms, watching the water spiral down the drain before reaching for the tap and turning the shower off. your reflection in the mirror is slightly blurred, your hair curling faintly at the ends. you run the towel through it quickly before pulling on a loose t-shirt and comfortable shorts, the fabric cool against your skin.
by the time you step back into the hallway, the house has settled into the quiet rhythm of evening. the faint clatter of dishes reaches you from downstairs.
when you make your way toward the kitchen a moment later, your hair still slightly damp at the ends, you find heeseung standing by the small dining table with his back half-turned to you, setting down a pair of bowls.
a warm light glows above the table, catching in the strands of his hair while he sets the table. you can feel the chill air from the air conditioning the moment you step off the last stair, a welcome contrast to the thick summer heat that had followed you all day. it settles lightly against your skin, cool enough that the damp ends of your hair make you shiver just a little.
the kitchen feels different now compared to earlier in the afternoon. the fading daylight outside has softened into evening shadows beyond the window, leaving the inside of the house wrapped in the warm yellow glow of the overhead light. it casts gentle shapes across the wooden table and the counters, turning the quiet space into something that feels unexpectedly calm.
for a second you linger near the doorway without saying anything. heeseung is moving around the table with ease, humming lightly to himself as he works.
he must hear your footsteps a moment later because he glances over his shoulder.
“you’re done?” he asks, his voice carrying easily through the room.
you nod, stepping a little further into the kitchen while reaching up to run your fingers briefly through the damp strands of your hair. “yeah.”
“good timing,” he says, pushing the last chair back slightly. “dinner’s ready.”
you move closer then, the scent of food drifting toward you as you reach the table. it’s nothing extravagant, but it smells comforting in a way that makes your stomach realize suddenly how long it has been since you last ate.
there’s rice steaming softly in a bowl, a simple stir-fry of vegetables, and a small plate of something that smells faintly like garlic and sesame oil. your stomach grumbles embarrassingly loud and heeseung looks up at you, his eyes widening just slightly in surprise.
for a split second neither of you says anything. then the sound seems to register properly, and the corner of his mouth twitches upward in quiet amusement. you feel heat rush instantly to your face.
“oh my god,” you mutter under your breath, covering your face briefly with one hand as you slide into the chair across from him. “that’s so embarrassing.”
he lets out a soft laugh, the sound low and easy. reaching for the rice bowl and scooping a portion into yours before you can protest, he says, “you must have had a long journey today, nothing to be embarrassed about.”
the way he says it is so matter-of-fact that it drains the moment of any real awkwardness. and right off the bat you can tell that, despite yunah’s many dramatic recollections of an annoying older brother, heeseung seems to be the kind of person who is kind simply because it comes naturally to him.
you glance down at the bowl he’s just filled, the rice still steaming faintly.
“thanks,” you mumble, reaching for your chopsticks. he just nods once and begins serving himself, like the moment has already passed.
dinner is a simple affair, you had mostly expected it to be awkward, given that you were practically strangers, but the silence that settles between bites isn’t the stiff, uncomfortable kind you had braced yourself for.
heeseung watches you carefully, though subtly, from across the table. you sit straighter than necessary, your eyes keep darting around the kitchen, settling on the worn wood of the table, the small stack of cookbooks by the counter, the way you scratch the back of your neck every now and then betrays your nervous energy, though you try to act casual.
“do you… like it here so far?” he asks finally, his voice soft enough to not startle you. he reaches for a small bowl of stir-fry, sliding it toward you, but makes no sudden movements. the gesture is simple, unobtrusive.
you blink, caught mid-thought, then nod. “i… yeah. i think so. it’s… quiet. peaceful.” your voice is low, hesitant. “a lot different from the city.”
heeseung nods slowly, understanding your sentiments without needing to say much. it had been the same for him when he first left for the city – the dizzying rush of noise, the sharp angles of concrete, the way people moved as if they were in a constant hurry had been a sharp contrast to the way he had grown up here. he and yunah had grown up in this house, the same worn floors, the same peach tree out back, learning the rhythms of the seasons and the subtle changes of light through the windows.
“i get that,” he says softly, almost to himself, then looks up at you. “yunah had been particularly worried when she had to first move out to the dorms for university. i remember her crying in her room the night before,” a soft laugh tumbles out of his lips, “i was worried she won’t be able to get used to the city, so we were all thankful that she was adjusting well not even a month in.”
you tilt your head slightly, realising he’s looking at you as if he’s grateful.
“oh…oh, well, it wasn’t all me. yunah is naturally sweet and friendly, she wouldn’t have had any problem making friends. i guess i’m lucky we got roomed together, because truthfully, she’s looked out for me more than i have on most occasions, even though i’m elder to her.”
you scratch the back of your neck, as if the confession itself had been something to be ashamed about. god knows your university days had not been easy, but while most people breezed through it, you had a particular inclination of always keeping track of the small details that most people ignored. it had been a survival mechanism more than anything, maybe that’s why yunah had trusted you so easily, and maybe that’s why you ended up here, sitting across from heeseung, in this quiet kitchen, feeling the weight of a gratitude that wasn’t entirely yours.
heeseung’s gaze doesn’t falter. he tilts his head slightly, as if considering the admission, but not judging it. there’s a soft calm in the way he moves, in the subtle ease of his shoulders. “i see,” he says, almost thoughtfully. “give yourself some credit though, its hard to maintain friendships at our age and keeping up with everything else. makes sense she’d latch onto someone reliable.”
he reaches for his bowl again, but doesn’t pick up the chopsticks right away, just lets his fingers hover over the edge. he’s not fishing for a reaction, just… noticing. you catch the quiet way he’s observing, how his attention lingers without pressing, and it makes the kitchen feel a little less empty, a little less tense.
“not that it matters much,” he adds after a pause, voice neutral, almost conversational. “i’m just… glad she had someone like that. that’s all.”
outside, the peach tree sways in the evening breeze, the last evening light filtering through the leaves and casting dappled patterns across the grass. heeseung glances briefly at the window, then back at the table, his gaze soft.
his mind drifts briefly to the phone call with yunah a week ago. she had called late, a little flustered, explaining that you would be coming to town for the internship but didn’t have anywhere to stay. yunah had asked if it would be okay for you to stay at the house for the summer while she was away, and heeseung had said yes – simply, because to be honest, he was not the type to overthink things.
yunah had mentioned of course, that you were generally a reserved person, careful with words and gestures, the type who listened more than spoke. heeseung remembered her emphasis, almost as a kind sibling warning that there wasn’t any need to “entertain” you or try to break through some imagined barrier. you were someone who did not demand attention, so he had been fairly warned that there was a good chance you would make yourself scarce if need be.
he doesn’t know you that well yet, and he’s not someone who forms opinions off first impressions, but he can tell that you certainly were on the quieter side with the way you don’t scramble around to make conversation. whether you do that intentionally because you’re nervous or whether it comes naturally doesn’t really matter to him. heeseung doesn’t read it as coldness or distance.
heeseung lets the thought linger, letting the silence settle comfortably between you, and in that, there’s a subtle understanding; not every presence needs words to be noticed, and not every connection has to start with conversation.
part three.
it seems that heeseung might have underestimated the extent to which you ‘make yourself scarce’.
the first few days pass in a strange sort of quiet that he only notices once he starts paying attention to it. he’s obviously used to it because he’s been living alone, but now that he knows you’re here, the silence registers differently. nit was like realizing there’s another presence moving through the same house, even if your paths rarely overlap.
for the most part, your schedules simply never align. by the time heeseung wakes up most mornings, you’re already gone. the first few days it happens, he thinks it’s coincidence. he’s up most days by nine am, which in his books is still pretty early (it’s not, really.)
well, it doesn’t bother him obviously. he knows you’re not here this summer to enjoy lazy days, you’re here for your internship. it’s perfectly normal for you to be up and about early. what confuses him is the absence of your presence.
there are no bowls in the sink. no half-used mugs left near the kettle. no crumbs on the counter, no open cabinet doors, nothing that suggests someone hurried through the kitchen before rushing out the door. when he opens the fridge, everything looks exactly the way he left it the night before. even the chairs around the table sit tucked neatly under the wood like they hadn’t been touched.
heeseung doesn’t notice it the first morning. or the second. it’s only after a few days that the pattern starts to stand out, the quiet neatness of everything, the way the counters stay cleared, the way the sponge by the sink is always squeezed dry and set back exactly where it belongs.
heeseung isn’t messy by any means, but he’s never been that precise. he leaves small traces of himself everywhere without thinking – his mug on the table, a notebook left open on the couch, his guitar leaning against the wall instead of properly set on its stand. the house, when it’s just him, reflects that.
it’s almost impressive, honestly. the way you seem to slip out of the house each morning without disturbing anything. no creaking floorboards, no clatter of dishes, not even the kettle’s soft whistle breaking the quiet.
like you move through the space with the awareness of someone who doesn’t want to be noticed at all. heeseung doesn’t know whether that’s intentional or just habit.
but after a few days, he finds himself pausing in the kitchen sometimes, mug in hand, glancing around the room as if trying to catch the smallest sign that you’d been there before him.
the only real evidence that you live here at all shows up sometime around the end of the first week.
the only real evidence that you live here at all shows up sometime around the end of the first week when a small stack of ramen packets appears in the pantry.
they’re pushed to the side of the shelf, lined up neatly beside a box of tea bags and a small jar of instant coffee. heeseung pauses the first time he notices them, hand halfway to the soy sauce bottle.
it makes sense, he supposes. they’re quick, cheap and easy to make. the kind of thing someone surviving long hours at a clinic might rely on when they don’t have the time or energy to cook a proper meal.
still, the sight of them lingers in his mind longer than he expects. mostly because the ramen quietly explains something else he’s been noticing: you don’t really eat dinner with him. at least not after the first night.
but that doesn’t explain why you would be binging on noodles every night. now, he’s no less of a fan of the instant food, but he’s been consistent in making two portions of food ever since you came. he stores them away in the fridge because of the heat, but he had always assumed that you would heat it up for your dinner.
but the ramen packets in the pantry slowly disappear, one by one, while the food he sets aside remains exactly where he left it. sometimes he finds himself opening the fridge in the morning and staring at the container for a second longer than necessary before closing the door again.
there was never a moment where he said help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge, and you never asked what the arrangement was supposed to be either. somewhere between the polite distance you keep and his own habit of not explaining things that feel obvious to him, the conversation simply never happened.
and for some reason, it pricks him just the tiniest bit that you never mentioned working late. he’s not blaming you but, because he doesn’t expect you to report your schedule to him or anything like that. but still, a little heads up would have been nice.
by the fourth day, he decides to address this issue.
it’s not really something worth making a big deal out of, and heeseung isn’t particularly eager to corner you into an awkward conversation over food, no less.
the sun dips lower behind the peach tree outside, the shadows stretching slowly across the backyard while the house sits in its usual quiet. he moves around the kitchen without committing to anything yet – washing a few vegetables, rinsing rice, then leaving it in the strainer while he leans against the counter.
normally by this time he would have already started cooking. dinner, for him, usually happens somewhere between eight and eight-thirty. tonight he lets the minutes pass instead.
he opens the fridge once, then closes it again. picks up his phone, scrolls for a few seconds, puts it down. at some point he drifts into the living room with his guitar, idly picking through a melody without really focusing on it. the notes fill the house softly before fading into the quiet again.
by the time it’s 8:45, he decides that he should at least start cooking. judging by the time you usually come home, he assumes you’ll be back by nine. normally when he cooks, his mind is somewhere else entirely – half on whatever melody he was working through earlier, half on the quiet routine of the evening. tonight it drifts somewhere else. because once the thought appears, it’s oddly hard to shake.
how do you usually go to work? do you take the bus home? do you walk all the way from the clinic? or the bus station? the town isn’t exactly built for late-night commuting. the bus routes thin out after evening hours, and the closest stop isn’t even particularly convenient. if you were taking the bus, you’d still have to walk a fair distance to reach the house.
and the clinic itself isn’t that close either. closer than the bus station, sure. but still far enough that walking back at night wouldn’t exactly be ideal. especially not after nine.
heeseung pauses briefly while stirring the pan, the question sitting there longer than he expects it to. he realizes, somewhat belatedly, that he has never actually asked. not once in the past week.
the thought makes him shift slightly where he stands at the stove, glancing absentmindedly toward the dark window above the sink. outside, the peach tree sways quietly in the night breeze, the branches barely visible now that the sky has turned fully dark, a waft of citrusy sweetness drifting faintly through the open window.
maybe you take a cab sometimes. or maybe someone from the clinic gives you a ride. both options sound reasonable enough, but neither of them feel particularly certain. and somehow that uncertainty lingers in the back of his mind while he finishes cooking.
by the time the food is ready, the clock on the microwave reads 8:58.
he turns the stove off and sets the pan aside, wiping his hands on a dish towel while glancing toward the front hallway without really meaning to. almost on cue, the front door opens.
the quiet click of the lock carries easily through the house, followed by the faint thud of the door closing. a second later there’s the soft shuffle of shoes being slipped off near the entrance.
he exhales quietly, not even realizing he’d been waiting for that sound. your footsteps move down the hallway a moment later, slower than usual.
when you step into the kitchen, you look a little surprised to see him still there.
“oh,” you say, blinking slightly. “you’re still up.”
“just finished cooking.” he nods toward the stove.
your gaze shifts toward the counter, noticing the two bowls sitting there. “…you didn’t have to wait.”
“i figured you’d be back soon.” he shrugs lightly.
you hesitate near the doorway, clearly a little unsure what to do with that information. “i was just going to make ramen,” you admit after a second.
“yeah,” he says simply. “i guessed.”
that earns a quiet, sheepish breath of laughter from you. you step into the kitchen properly now, setting your bag down by the chair. “sorry,” you say. “the clinic ran late again today.”
he nods once, but the question from earlier is still sitting in the back of his mind.
“so how do you usually get back?” he asks, gesturing vaguely toward the street outside. “from the clinic.”
you pause halfway to the counter. “oh. i usually walk.”
“all the way?” heeseung’s brows pull together slightly.
“it’s not that bad,” you say quickly, already sensing the direction of his reaction. “like… twenty minutes?”
“at nine in the night.”
you rub the back of your neck, clearly aware of how that sounds. “sometimes a little earlier.”
he exhales slowly through his nose. “that’s not great.”
“i’ve been fine,” you say, though it comes out a little more defensive than you probably intended. he doesn’t argue immediately. instead, he just reaches for the bowls and sets one down in front of you at the table.
“eat first,” he says. “we’ll figure the rest out later.”
you hesitate for a moment, but the smell of actual food – something that isn’t instant noodles – makes the decision easier. you sit down across from him, pushing your sleeves up slightly before picking up the chopsticks.
for a minute or two, the kitchen settles into a quiet rhythm again. the faint clink of chopsticks against bowls, the low hum of the refrigerator behind you, the occasional rustle of leaves outside the window where the peach tree sways in the dark.
halfway through the meal, heeseung glances up.
“you don’t eat breakfast either, do you?”
you pause mid-bite. “what?”
“in the mornings,” he says. “there’s never anything in the sink. no mugs or bowls. nothing.”
“…sometimes i grab something on the way.” your gaze drops immediately back to the rice in front of you.
“sometimes?” he raises an eyebrow slightly.
“it’s not a big deal,” you say quickly. “the clinic gets busy early, and i’m usually running late anyway. i’ll just grab something from the convenience store if i’m really hungry.”
“you don’t, though.” you glance up at him.
“you’re making a lot of assumptions for someone who’s never actually seen me in the morning.” this seems to shut him up, but he just chuckles in good spirit. he decides that your breakfast is a topic he would have to get back to later.
“so,” he says after a moment, tone casual. “how’s the internship going?”
you look up, visibly a little surprised by the question.
“it’s… good,” you say slowly. “busy.”
“ah really, what do you usually do?”
you seem to think about that for a second before answering.
“mostly routine stuff right now. cleaning wounds, assisting with checkups, helping restrain animals when the vet needs both hands free.” you shrug slightly. “nothing very glamorous.”
he nods, listening.
“but sometimes we get actual emergencies,” you add, warming up to the explanation a little. “someone brought in a cat that had gotten into a fight with a stray a few days ago. and yesterday there was this kid that fed his pet rabbit chocolate, and that’s not really good because rabbits have a sensitive digestive system and cannot process all that stuff. the kid was crying though, he looked like he thought he’d killed his pet.”
heeseung’s expression softens slightly at that. “was the rabbit fine?” he asks.
“yeah,” you say. “just had to keep it under observation for a bit.” you take another bite before continuing, the words coming a little more naturally now.
“most of the time it’s smaller things though. ear infections, small injuries, routine vaccinations… a lot of nervous owners. there was this really old dog today though. could barely walk. the owner still carries it everywhere.”
across the table, heeseung listens without interrupting. there’s a faint smile on his face, and a sudden pang of fondness reverberates through him. he misplaces it in the moment, brushing past the feeling before it can settle into anything he needs to examine.
he doesn’t jump in with questions every few sentences or try to steer the conversation somewhere else. mostly he just nods here and there, letting you fill the space however you want.
you stop after a moment, suddenly aware that you’ve been talking longer than intended.
“…sorry,” you mutter, pushing a piece of rice around your bowl with the tip of your chopsticks. “that was probably unnecessary detail.”
heeseung shakes his head lightly. “it’s fine.”
you glance up at him, a little uncertain if he’s just being polite, but the small smile on his face doesn’t look forced. the conversation dips into a small pause after that, the sound of chopsticks against bowls filling the space instead.
then you look up again.
“…how was your day?”
“you’re asking me?” heeseung blinks.
“well… yeah.”
“that might be the first time,” he says, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
you narrow your eyes immediately. “well, likewise.”
that earns a quiet laugh from him. “my day was normal,” he says after a moment. “worked most of the afternoon on some music.”
“oh yeah, i noticed the guitar in the living room. but i remember yunah saying that you play the piano…?”
heeseung glances up at that, following the direction your eyes briefly flick toward the living room before settling back on you. the question hangs between you for a moment, unfinished but clear enough. he doesn’t seem surprised by it. if anything, the corner of his mouth lifts a little, like the connection makes sense to him.
“yeah,” he says after a beat. “piano mostly.”
you nod, though your gaze drops back to your bowl almost immediately, as if realizing you might have revealed more than intended. mentioning yunah like that makes it sound like the two of you had talked about him more than casually, and the awareness of it seems to make you retreat slightly into yourself again. you poke at the rice with your chopsticks, shoulders drawing in just a little.
heeseung doesn’t comment on it. instead he leans back slightly in his chair, tone easy when he adds, “the guitar’s just something i keep around. easier to pick up when i’m working through ideas.”
by the time the bowls are empty, the kitchen has fallen into a comfortable sort of quiet again, the earlier conversation settling into the background like it had simply been another part of the evening. you stand first, gathering the bowls before he can reach for them.
“i can—” he starts.
“it’s fine,” you say quickly, already turning toward the sink. “you cooked.”
heeseung watches you for half a second, then gets up anyway, reaching for the other dishes still on the table. the two of you end up sharing the small space by the counter without really discussing it. you rinse the bowls while he stacks them beside the sink, the quiet rush of running water filling the kitchen.
for a while neither of you says much. after a minute, heeseung dries his hands on the dish towel and leans back lightly against the counter.
“so,” he says casually, like the thought had just crossed his mind again. “you said you walk back from the clinic. i’m not sure how i feel about that.”
all you can do is stare up at him. he’s leaning against the countertop, and you are mildly aware of the rubbery pink gloves on your hands and the fact that you’re standing barely a step away from him by the sink.
“it’s not that bad,” you say after a moment, turning back toward the dishes like the conversation might dissolve if you don’t face it directly. “like i said, it’s only about twenty minutes.” you rinse the bowl in your hands a little more aggressively than necessary.
“it doesn’t matter if it's five minutes away, i wouldn’t want my own sister walking alone that late at night.”
heeseung watches the hesitation flicker across your face for a second before speaking again, tone still calm. “you could take the car.”
“the car?” you blink.
he nods toward the front of the house, like it’s the most obvious solution in the world.
“it mostly just sits outside anyway.” the suggestion hangs in the air for a moment before the realization hits you properly. your ears warm almost immediately.
“oh.” you glance away, suddenly very interested in the dish towel folded beside the sink. “…i don’t know how to drive.”
talk about losing aura points. well, it's not like not knowing how to drive makes you any less of a functioning adult. plenty of people get by perfectly fine without it. still, saying it out loud like that – especially in response to a solution that had sounded so simple in his head – makes the admission feel embarrassingly small.
you keep your attention fixed on the sink, fiddling with the edge of the glove you’ve already taken off. in your favor, heeseung doesn’t laugh at you. nor does he make it a big deal, instead already offering the next possible solution.
“okay,” he says after a second. you glance up briefly, a little wary of what comes next.
“i can just pick you up.” the words land so plainly that it takes you a moment to process them.
“you don’t have to do that,” you say quickly.
“it’s not a big deal.”
“it kind of is,” you reply, turning fully toward him now. “you shouldn’t have to drive across town every night just because i can’t figure out transportation.”
heeseung tilts his head slightly, considering that. “then take the bus.”
“i’ll still have to walk from the bus station,” you frown. surely, he knew that? he drove you from there the first day.
“well uhm,” heeseung, oddly clears his throat sheepishly, “if you’re not comfortable with me picking you up from the clinic, i can pick you up from the bus stop.”
you blink at him, and for a moment you actually pause to consider what he just said. the way he had cleared his throat before offering the alternative, the slightly awkward phrasing of it – it clicks into place a second later: he thinks you’re uncomfortable with him picking you up from the clinic itself.
your brows knit together faintly.
“oh—no, that’s not what i meant,” you say quickly, the words coming out a little more hurried than you intended. you turn halfway toward him, one hand still resting on the edge of the sink as you shake your head. “that’s not… the issue here.”
heeseung straightens slightly where he’s standing beside the counter, confusion flickering across his face. one brow lifts as he studies you for a second, clearly trying to follow the shift in your reasoning.
“it’s not?” he asks, the question drawn out just slightly, like he’s giving you space to explain.
you let out a small breath and push a stray strand of hair back behind your ear, already feeling the faint embarrassment creeping up your neck.
“no,” you say, a little more carefully now. “i mean—it's not like i’d be uncomfortable if you picked me up from the clinic. that’s not what i was trying to say.”
he watches you for a second, clearly trying to follow the shift in your reasoning.
you glance away toward the counter, suddenly aware of how this whole conversation must sound from the outside. him offering solutions one after another while you keep rejecting them.
“it’s just…” you hesitate, searching for the right way to phrase it. “i didn’t want to impose any more than i already am.”
“i’m already staying here for six months,” you continue, your voice a little quieter now. “that’s a pretty big favor as it is. and now you’re offering to drive across town every night on top of that. it just feels like… a lot.”
the explanation settles between you. for a moment heeseung doesn’t say anything. instead, he looks at you with a faint tilt to his head, like he’s trying to line up your logic with the situation in front of him. the silence stretches just long enough for you to start wondering if you somehow made the whole thing more awkward than necessary.
he then exhales quietly through his nose, the sound almost like a soft laugh he doesn’t fully let out. one shoulder lifts in a small shrug as he pushes himself off the counter, clearly unconvinced by the logic you’ve laid out.
“if anything happened to you,” he says after a moment, tone matter-of-fact in a way that almost sounds like he’s thinking aloud, “yunah would absolutely kill me. i’m serious. she’d call me from across the country just to yell first, then probably get on the next train here to finish the job herself.” the corner of his mouth lifts faintly at the image, though the point underneath it is clearly genuine. “so for my own sake, i’m not really willing to risk that.”
you blink at him, the tension that had built up in your shoulders loosening despite yourself.
“that feels a little dramatic,” you mutter, though there’s a hint of reluctant amusement in your voice now.
“have you met my sister?” he asks, raising an eyebrow, the question carrying just enough dry humor that it pulls a quiet huff of laughter out of you.
the moment settles again after that, but before you can say anything else, he adds almost as an afterthought, his tone shifting back into something calmer and more straightforward.
“besides,” he says, glancing briefly toward the dark window over the sink before looking back at you, “i’d worry if i let you walk home alone this late too.”
you look down at the edge of the sink, fiddling absentmindedly with the cuff of the glove still on your hand. it's not like you’re forcing him to do this. but despite his insistence, you’re torn; because his reason is valid but you stand by what you said about not wanting to impose.
still, the hesitation sits stubbornly in your chest. because agreeing feels like accepting more help than you’re comfortable with.
“i mean… i get what you’re saying,” you say after a moment, your voice quieter now as you pull the glove off your hand and set it beside the sink. “and i’m not trying to be difficult about it. it’s just—”
“you’re assuming this is some huge inconvenience for me.”
you blink at that. “…isn’t it?”
heeseung shakes his head once, pushing away from the counter again to rinse the last plate still sitting in the sink.
“not really,” he says, running the dish briefly under the water before setting it in the rack. “i’m usually still up around that time anyway.”
you watch him for a second, unsure whether he’s just saying that to make the offer sound easier to accept. he notices the look and lets out a small breath through his nose.
“i’m serious,” he adds, glancing back at you over his shoulder. “half the time i’m still working on music at night. driving ten minutes to pick someone up isn’t exactly ruining my schedule.”
“if it makes you feel better,” he continues, “we can just… try it for a while. if it turns out to be annoying, we’ll figure something else out.”
you glance toward the window, where the dark outline of the peach tree sways faintly in the night breeze outside. then you look back at him.
“…alright,” you say slowly. “for a while.”
heeseung nods once, like that’s all he needed to hear. “good.”
part four.
when you had first hesitated to let heeseung pick you up after work, he had immediately understood that you were probably not someone who was used to asking for help.
that paired with yunah’s occasional description of you being the ‘reliable one’ in your friend group
that impression had only been reinforced by the way yunah occasionally talked about you—the “reliable one” in your friend group, the person who kept track of deadlines, remembered small details, and generally held things together when everyone else got overwhelmed.
at the time, heeseung had only nodded along to those descriptions over the phone. but a few weeks into living under the same roof, he finds that they line up almost perfectly with the person he sees moving quietly through the house every day.
you are capable in that careful, self-contained way that makes it difficult to tell when you’re struggling with something. you rarely ask for help outright. when something needs to be done, you tend to figure it out yourself first.
heeseung hadn’t pushed the issue beyond that conversation in the kitchen. but quietly, in his own way, he had made up his mind that some things didn’t need to be negotiated every single time.
so the rides simply… continued. at first you thanked him every night, then you thanked him every other night.
eventually the gratitude turned into a small nod and a quiet “hey” when you climbed into the passenger seat after work, and the drive home slipped into an easy rhythm neither of you commented on anymore.
sometimes the two of you talked in the car. sometimes you didn’t. the quiet was never particularly uncomfortable, mostly filled with small things – your stories from the clinic, the occasional comment about the weather, or the way the town seemed to settle earlier and earlier as summer deepened.
heeseung listened while driving, one hand resting lightly on the steering wheel as he let you talk. sometimes he asked a question or two, sometimes he just hummed in acknowledgement while you explained something about medication schedules or recovery treatments.
but it’s the weekends that start to feel different.
weekends are when you actually exist in the same space for longer than a few passing minutes.
the first few saturdays are quiet. you still keep mostly to yourself, settling on the living room couch with a stack of academic reading balanced on your lap while heeseung drifts in and out of the room doing his own things – working on music, tuning his guitar, occasionally disappearing into the kitchen.
you rarely interrupt each other. but gradually the silence changed.
instead of the careful quiet of two strangers trying not to intrude, it became the comfortable quiet of two people sharing space without needing to fill every minute with conversation.
heeseung found that he didn’t mind your presence at all. if anything, it was oddly grounding.
you had a way of existing in the room without demanding attention, flipping through pages of your notes with a focused concentration. every now and then you paused to underline something, or jot a quick comment in the margins, your brow furrowed like the page in front of you contained a problem you were determined to solve.
the only thing that regularly broke that concentration was the guitar. the instrument sat propped casually against the wall beside the bookshelf, exactly where he usually left it after playing. but every once in a while, when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, your gaze drifted toward it.
the first time he assumed you were just looking around the room. the second time he wondered if it was in the way. the third time, he set his notebook down.
“ do you play?”
your head snapped up from your reading immediately. the expression on your face made it look like you’d been caught doing something mildly embarrassing.
“oh—no,” you said quickly, shaking your head.
heeseung lets his gaze fall briefly to the guitar and then back to you, one eyebrow lifting slightly like he’s not entirely convinced by how quickly you dismissed the idea.
“you’ve been looking at it,” he points out, not accusingly, just stating a fact.
your eyes flick back to the instrument for half a second before returning to your notes, though the page you had been reading clearly no longer has your attention. you let out a quiet breath through your nose.
“i mean,” you say slowly, closing the notebook over your finger to hold your place, “i don’t play. i’ve just… always wanted to learn, i guess.”
the admission sounds a little sheepish once it’s out loud, like something that should have stayed a passing thought instead of turning into an actual statement. heeseung tilts his head slightly.
“how come you didn’t?” you shrug, though the gesture is smaller than usual.
“i was a very academically focused child,” you say, the words carrying that faintly self-aware tone people use when they know the explanation sounds a little absurd in hindsight. “music lessons and hobbies and all that stuff always ended up becoming… optional whenever exams were around. and there were always exams around.”
he hums quietly at that, leaning back into the couch as he considers the answer. it’s not said with any bitterness, just the matter-of-fact explanation of someone who had accepted that trade-off a long time ago.
“and now?” he asks after a moment. you hesitate just long enough that the answer becomes obvious before you even say it.
“…now i’m still academically focused,” you admit, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.
that draws a quiet laugh out of him, the sound easy and unforced.
“well,” he says, glancing toward the guitar again before pushing himself up from the couch, “that sounds like a fixable problem.”
you watch him cross the room, momentarily confused about where the conversation is going. when he reaches the bookshelf and lifts the guitar off the floor, the realization dawns slowly. your eyebrows shoot up.
“oh, no.”
heeseung turns back toward you with the instrument already resting against his hip, looking mildly amused by your reaction.
“what?”
“you’re not serious.”
“why not?”
you stare at him like he just suggested something completely unreasonable.
“i didn’t mean right now,” you say, sitting up a little straighter on the couch. “i meant like… theoretically. in the future. maybe.”
he glances at the clock on the wall, then back at you. “it’s a saturday evening."
“and?”
“and you’ve been reading the same three pages for the last fifteen minutes,” he replies calmly. you open your mouth to deny it, then stop when you realize he’s probably right. the notebook slides a little further down your lap as you exhale.
heeseung doesn’t argue. instead he disappears briefly into the kitchen and returns a moment later with two tall glasses of iced tea, condensation already forming on the outside of the glass.
“come outside,” he says, nudging the back door open with his shoulder before you can object further.
the yard is washed in late afternoon sunlight, the warmth of the day still lingering in the air even though the breeze has picked up slightly. the peach tree stands near the center of the yard, its wide branches casting a patch of cool shade across the grass.
heeseung sets the glasses down near the base of the tree and lowers himself against the trunk with the kind of familiarity that suggests he sits there often.
you linger near the doorway for a second before stepping out after him, the grass soft under your feet.
the shade under the peach tree is noticeably cooler. leaves rustle quietly overhead, the filtered sunlight shifting across the ground whenever the breeze moves through the branches.
you settle down across from him, crossing your legs loosely as you pick up one of the glasses. the iced tea is cold enough that the first sip makes you sigh a little without meaning to.
heeseung notices, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. the afternoon feels slow.
“i’m going to be terrible.” you say without any prefix, but heeseung already knows what you meant.
“definitely.”
“that’s not very encouraging.”
he laughs, and it's the same effortless, breathy tenor that you’ve started to grow familiar to, over the past few weeks. it carries easily through the shade of the peach tree before fading into the rustling of leaves overhead.
“i don’t expect you to be good right off the bat. it’s like asking a kid to spell out words when they don’t even know the alphabet.”
you hesitate, but eventually you reach forward and lift it carefully into your lap.
your hands are a little tentative at first, fingers hovering uncertainly above the strings while heeseung leans forward slightly to show you where to place them.
“here,” he says, gently tapping the fretboard. “try pressing down there.”
you follow the motion, pressing your fingertips down where he indicates, though the position immediately feels unnatural. the strings resist slightly under the pressure, thin metal lines digging into the pads of your fingers in a way that makes you instinctively want to pull back. for a moment you hover there, unsure whether you’re even doing it correctly.
“am i supposed to press this hard?” you ask, glancing up at him.
heeseung shifts a little closer, resting one elbow on his knee so he can see the fretboard properly. from this angle he can clearly see the way your fingers are pressing down almost too cautiously, like you’re worried about damaging the instrument.
it’s almost cute, the way you glance up at him as if you’re worried you’d damage the instrument itself.
“you can press harder, it's not going to break,” he says, reaching forward and adjusting the position of your index finger by a fraction. his touch is light, just a quick correction against your knuckle before he pulls his hand back.
“well—what if i do break something?”
“you won’t.”
you huff softly at that but look back down at the fretboard anyway, concentrating again. the last rays from the dying sun filter through the peach leaves overhead and break into blurry shifting patterns across the grass and the guitar’s polished wood, brightening and fading every time the breeze stirs the branches.
from where he sits against the trunk, heeseung can see the way the light catches along the curve of the instrument in your lap and along your hands as you try to reposition your fingers. the air under the tree smells faintly sweet – unripe peaches and warm grass, the citrusy edge of the fruit mingling with the slow warmth of the afternoon.
you’re not paying much attention to that, though. your entire focus is still on the fretboard.
from where he sits, leaning back against the trunk of the peach tree, heeseung can see the way your shoulders draw inward when you concentrate, the small crease that forms between your brows when something isn’t cooperating the way you want it to. it’s the same expression you wear when you’re hunched over your notes in the living room.
this time though, he leans a little closer so he can guide your fingers more precisely along the fretboard. his hand hovers near yours for a moment, the warmth of his palm brushing the back of your fingers as he gently nudges them into place.
the strings press beneath your fingertips, biting faintly at the pads of your fingers, but with his guidance, the position begins to feel just a little less foreign.
you glance up almost unconsciously, trying to read his expression as you adjust your fingers. and then you notice the way the dying sunlight catches the strands of his hair. long and soft, the auburn tones gleaming almost coppery in the late light, each lock falling naturally over his forehead and around his face. a few strands stick slightly to his temple where a faint bead of sweat has formed from the warm evening, but it only makes him look more real, more present, more immediate.
for a split second, the concentrated weight of your focus on the chord shifts as you find yourself watching the way the light moves across the curve of his hair, how the shadows play across his sharp jawline and the slight tilt of his head as he leans closer to adjust your finger again. the breeze stirs, lifting a few strands and making them dance just above his eyes, brushing lightly against his temple – and that brief moment is all it takes to make you want to yeet yourself out of existence.
heeseung chooses that moment to glance down at you, and your eyes meet his for a moment longer than necessary. he notices the small widening of your eyes, the faint catch in your breath, the way your lips part slightly as if you’re about to speak but decide against it. for a beat, he’s acutely aware of the cool breeze, the soft rustling of the peach leaves above, the earthy scent of grass and fruit mingling with the faint musk of him.
but you pull away just as suddenly, a somewhat decent strum of guitar breaking the moment. heeseung leans away too, but when you glance up again, catching his gaze briefly before quickly looking back down at the chord, heeseung can see the faint flush across your cheeks, the way your eyes flick to his for reassurance just before you force your attention back onto the strings.
whatever that had been…he chooses to ignore it for the moment. for your sake and his, and it's slightly easy to do so when he watches the way your lips tug up in a smile when you get a chord right.
by the time the sun has completely disappeared, and the porch lights shine brightly, you’ve managed a few more chords, still fumbling but steadily more confident. heeseung watches the way your fingers move across the strings, occasionally offering small corrections with his quiet, precise gestures. you laugh softly at one particularly awkward strum, the sound carrying through the air like it belongs there. heeseung smiles too, though it’s tempered with a quiet amusement.
the iced tea glasses are half empty, condensation pooling on the grass. heeseung catches your gaze again and offers a small nod, almost imperceptible, as if to say you’re doing fine.
eventually, the guitar comes to rest in your lap, and you both sit in the shade quietly.
“so,” he began casually, voice cutting through the quiet, “how’s it going at the clinic lately? are you enjoying your internship so far?”
“busy, as usual,” you said. then, without thinking too much, your words spilled out. “actually… there’s this kitten. he was born premature, so they put him under observation, and i’m sort of… his primary caregiver. i’ve been feeding him, keeping him warm, making sure he doesn’t get too stressed. he’s so tiny, heeseung… barely bigger than my hand.”
there was a short pause. you glanced up and found him watching you more intently than usual. “what’s his name?”
“miso,” you say fondly, “he’s so small, fragile, but somehow he’s got this attitude, like he’s already ready to take on the world.” your voice softened, almost like you were talking to yourself.
heeseung leaned back against the tree, tilting his head, “why did you choose this field?” his voice had a soft curiosity, like he genuinely wanted to understand.
you fiddled with a loose string on the guitar, letting your fingers trace it absentmindedly. “i… i don’t know, really. i like being able to do something that actually matters, i guess..” you glanced up briefly, letting your gaze drift to the fading light before looking back down. “and… my mom, she—she expects me to do more. be more. not that she doesn’t think this matters… but i guess she thinks i could do something bigger. something more… impressive.” you exhaled softly, the words hanging between the two of you, fragile, unclaimed.
heeseung didn’t say anything right away, just tilted his head and listened, giving you the space to say more if you wanted. when you don't, he offers a small, understanding nod and leans back on his elbows, stretching comfortably. you follow suit, lying back on the grass for a few moments to feel the warmth of the earth, the soft rustle of the branches, and the faintly sweet scent of the fruit.
you lay under the big tree, watching the peach fruits hovering above you and something about wanting to bite into the sweet fruits on a hot day makes your mouth water.
“when do you think these will be ready to eat?” you ask, tilting your head so the breeze lifts stray strands of hair from your face. the question feels almost silly, but the anticipation in your chest is real, the kind of simple craving that hits on a summer night.
heeseung shifts slightly, propping himself up on one elbow and following your gaze. his hand idly brushes against the grass as he talks. “a few weeks, probably,” he says thoughtfully. “they’ve got a way to go before they’re soft enough to bite into. but…,” he glances at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “the wait makes it worth it.”
you hum softly, imagining the burst of sweet juice when they finally ripen. “i didn’t even know peaches could smell like this before they’re ripe,” you murmur, inhaling through your nose. “it’s… kind of intoxicating.”
heeseung chuckles, a low, warm sound that blends easily with the rustling of leaves. “yeah, yunah and i used to spend summers picking them when they were just starting to turn more vibrant. yunah was always faster than me, she had this way of climbing up on the lower branches like it was nothing, grabbing the best ones before i even got there. i’d end up running around the tree, trying to reach the ones that hadn’t been taken yet.”
you grin, imagining the scene, the two of them darting among the branches while the sun warmed their skin. “that sounds exactly like yunah.”
the laugh that bubbles out of your chest at the thought lands warmly in his ears.
heeseung shrugs, settling back again, eyes drifting toward the boughs above. “yeah, it’s nice… it’s kind of like having a little corner of the world where you can just… be.”
you follow his gaze, catching the faint shimmer of the guitar leaning against him. “i like that,” you admit, and the words feel lighter than the usual weight of daily life. “it feels like… summer should feel.”
heeseung grins, letting the warmth of the moment linger, fingers tapping lightly against the grass as he watches the sunlight drift through the leaves. “then we’ll just have to enjoy it while it lasts,” he says, and in that easy way he has.
the peach tree stands over you both, its leaves whispering softly in the breeze, the warm air carrying the faint scent of fruit and grass, and for a long, perfect moment, it feels like the world has slowed down just for this quiet night.
part five.
by the time the first month ends and the second is well underway, your days have begun to overlap in ways that feel natural, even inevitable.
evenings become a shared habit. movies now stretch late into the night. you curl up on the couch with a blanket, heeseung beside you with the guitar resting on the armrest. sometimes he strums quietly during quiet moments, just enough for the hum of strings to fill the room without pulling focus. you let your head fall back against the cushions and realize, for the first time in a long time, that you don’t have to be productive every second.
but he notices when you’ve been hunched over your books too long. the crease between your brows, the way your fingers tap idly against the table after too many minutes of writing, and he doesn’t hesitate. “get your ass off that chair,” he says one afternoon, a teasing lilt in his voice, “five hours straight, and for what? the chair doesn’t deserve this.”
breakfast is its own kind of battleground. heeseung starts waking earlier, slipping quietly into the kitchen to fry eggs or toast bread before your alarm even goes off. you protest, embarrassed, insisting that you don’t need the fuss. but he doesn’t back down. “i’m not asking,” he says with that tilt of his head that’s impossible to argue with. “you’re not allowed to skip
you catch him once on a monday morning in the kitchen, straight out of bed, eyes still squinting against the harsh light and hair sticking up in all directions as he stands over the countertop cutting a watermelon into neat little cubes.
you feel a pang of guilt at the sight and you really do protest against this new disruption to his summer. so you clear your throat, trying to sound stern but failing because the smell of fresh watermelon and warm toast fills the kitchen and makes your stomach rumble anyway. “heeseung, you really don’t have to—”
“don’t have to do what?” he asks, voice still rough from just waking up, “make sure you don’t survive on coffee and ramen? because trust me, you’re terrible at it.”
“i’m an adult,” you protest weakly, already knowing it’s futile. heeseung tilts his head, knife poised above the watermelon, eyes sparkling with that teasing warmth that makes arguing impossible.
you huff, crossing your arms half-heartedly, but your stomach chooses that very moment to betray you with a low, impatient growl. heeseung notices without even looking up, tilting his head slightly in that way that makes it clear he’s enjoying the small victory. “hear that?” he says casually, gesturing toward your rumbling stomach with the tip of his knife. “that’s your body talking. it’s literally asking me to make breakfast for you.”
and that is the end of it. pretty much like how he had somehow made himself indispensable to your every day routine, heeseung finds how easy it is to let you be a part of his own.
sure, there are days when you’re too tired and fall asleep on the short car ride home, and on those nights you don’t even have it in yourself to have dinner, so he lets you go straight to bed, but with only a slight worry niggling at his mind on the way you look absolutely drained.
you’ve told him on many occasions that you enjoy what you do, that being surrounded by all those little animals makes your day, but some days you have house calls, and those are the days that get too tiring for you, though you’ve never quite made any mention of that particular predicament. because even heeseung can see the way you seem happy and satisfied at the end of the week, as if you’ve let yourself enjoy the satisfaction of having done a good job.
the new dynamic between you settles like a rhythm in his life. he nags just enough to make sure you’re not burning yourself out, teases enough to get a smile or a groan, makes meals, packs lunches. and you, without realizing it, have become part of his routine, just as he has become part of yours. there’s a strange, unspoken ease in it, a balance that neither of you ever named but both of you live in.
heeseung shakes his head, laughing softly to himself. maybe he’s taken on the role of the elder brother, the caretaker, the one who makes sure you survive and thrive in these small, domestic ways. but he doesn’t mind. in fact, he likes it. liking it, he reminds himself, doesn’t come with obligations. and he thinks that maybe this is how he wants these weeks to feel.
then comes the fateful day that you've left your lunch behind in a rush to start housecalls, your bag empty except for your notes.
heeseung only notices it about ten minutes after you’ve already left.
he’s rinsing the pan from breakfast when his eyes fall on the familiar container sitting neatly on the kitchen counter, the one he’d packed just a few minutes earlier – rice, grilled chicken, and the sliced fruit he’d tucked in on the side because he’d noticed you liked something sweet after meals. the lid is clipped shut, exactly the way he left it.
he stares at it for a second. “…you’ve got to be kidding me.”
a quiet laugh escapes him as he wipes his hands on a towel. of course you forgot it. you’d been rushing around that morning, half awake, flipping through your notes while fixing your hair with your fingers.
he glances at the clock. if he leaves now, he can probably still catch you before you head out again.
he grabs the container, drops it into a small paper bag, and reaches for his keys without thinking too hard about it.
the clinic waiting room is busier than usual when he steps inside.
there’s a soft chorus of anxious pets – one dog whining somewhere near the chairs, a cat meowing irritably from inside a carrier, the faint jingle of leashes and tags every time someone shifts in their seat. the air smells faintly of disinfectant and fur.
heeseung pauses just inside the doorway, scanning the room.
you appear from the hallway a moment later, flipping through a small clipboard while. you don’t notice him at first.
“hey.” your head snaps up. for a second you just blink at him like he’s appeared out of thin air.
“heeseung?” you say, completely thrown. “what are you doing here?”
he lifts the paper bag slightly. “you forgot this.”
you stare at the bag. then at him, then back at the bag again. you take it from him, looking only mildly horrified. he already knows what’s going on in your head, you’re probably already droning on about how you’ve ‘inconvenienced’ him again.
heeseung shrugs, that lazy, infuriatingly calm gesture that somehow makes him look completely unbothered. “it’s fine,” he says lightly, though the slight lift of his eyebrows betrays that tiny spark of amusement. “i figured you’d need it.”
you fumble with the straps of your bag, cheeks heating up as your brain scrambles for words. “i—i didn’t mean to—”
“you didn’t mean to forget your lunch,” he interrupts softly, leaning against the wall with that effortless ease he always seems to have, “but here we are. you’ve got it now. problem solved.”
your mouth opens, then closes again, flustered, because honestly, what do you even say to that? heeseung just watches you, the corner of his lips twitching in a way that tells you he’s enjoying every second of your internal chaos.
an elderly woman sits there with a small fluffy dog perched in her lap, watching the two of you with open delight.
“that’s a good boyfriend right there,” she continues cheerfully, gesturing toward heeseung. “driving over just to bring you lunch? my word.”
you freeze, cheeks heating up in a way that almost feels painful. your hands clutch the bag a little tighter, eyes darting between heeseung and the old woman, completely at a loss. “wha—no, we’re not—”
heeseung tilts his head, suppressing a smile as he glances at you. his hand drifts just slightly toward yours, brushing against your skin, enough to ground you in the absurdity of the moment. “ignore her,” he says quietly, tone calm and teasing all at once. “she’s old. loves to talk.”
the woman beams at you knowingly, tapping her dog lightly on the head. “don’t even try to deny it, dear. he would make a good husband, this one, driving over with your lunch like that.”
your hands tighten instinctively on the paper bag, clutching it as if it could shield you from the embarrassment radiating through the waiting room. you open your mouth to protest, but words falter halfway.
the thing about living with heeseung was that you had definitely been more than aware of the way you had grown reliant on his presence. and to be quite honest, you weren’t sure that realization made you feel comforted or alarmed.
your fingers flexed around the paper bag again, the lunch inside a small, mundane thing, yet it carried the weight of weeks of routines you hadn’t even realized you’d let yourself lean on. you’d always managed on your own, always prided yourself on being self-sufficient, and yet now, looking at him standing there with that lazy, teasing grin, the sight both unsettled and relieved you. relief that someone actually noticed the small ways you let yourself be stretched thin, that someone would quietly step in without making you beg or admit you needed it.
you met his eyes briefly, and for a moment, it felt almost dizzying; the way he seemed calm, certain, and entirely unconcerned by how flustered you were. how had it been so easy to let him handle the little things, and why was it so disorienting to realize you didn’t want to argue with it anymore?
“i… uh…” you started, your voice small, faltering, unsure of what you could even say. the words didn’t come, so you just lifted the bag slightly toward him, a silent acknowledgment.
heeseung’s grin softened, just a little, seeing that hesitation. “hey,” he said quietly, “it’s fine. really. i don’t mind. i like doing it.”
you swallowed hard, and suddenly the embarrassment and warmth coiled together in your chest, a strange mix of self-consciousness and relief. for all your protests, for all your insistence that you could manage on your own, you realized just how much having someone really, truly look out for you mattered.
you’d never let anyone in like this before – not so openly nor unconditionally – and it made you dizzy in a way you weren’t sure you could name.
“um… thanks,” you finally managed, voice quiet, almost lost beneath the murmur of pets and people in the waiting room.
heeseung’s grin softened, catching the subtle nuance in your voice. “you don’t need to thank me,” he said, tilting his head, eyes crinkling at the corners. “someone has to make sure you don’t starve yourself, right?”
your cheeks warmed again, heat creeping up your neck, and you looked down at the bag, letting the words settle.
he was just being nice, like he had always been. and it's a sentiment you find yourself wanting to believe, except when it happens, you’re left feeling confused, because the very next thing heeseung does is to crouch slightly to meet your level, one hand reaching out almost reflexively to ruffle your hair.
“can’t have you starving on my watch, yunah would kill me, literally.” he says with a half-smile, almost like it’s an afterthought, as if you’re just part of a checklist of things he’s supposed to look out for.
and he’s said this before of course, it had been one of the reasons he had cited when it had been decided that he would pick you up in the evenings. so, if this was something you were already aware of, why does it leave you feeling so strangely off-kilter now?
because you know exactly what he means.
you tug at your sleeves, glancing down at the floor, trying to make sense of the twist in your chest. there’s a small, undeniable pinch of… something. disappointment, maybe. confusion, definitely. you want to tell yourself it doesn’t matter, but the feeling refuses to be dismissed so neatly.
and while the logic in your head says it’s purely circumstantial – he’s yunah’s brother, he’s supposed to be responsible – it clashes with the way your chest tightens at the smallest touch, at the easy way he crosuches down just to ruffle your hair.
you blink up at him, half-expecting him to notice the sudden tension, but he’s already straightening, sliding a little distance back, smile returning, pretending nothing has changed. heeseung makes it so natural, so effortless, that you’re left grappling with your own reaction in silence.
“thanks,” you murmur finally, voice small and uncertain.
heeseung smiles again, before taking off, leaving you standing there in the middle of the clinic, clutching the bag of lunch to your chest like a prized possession. and if anyone were to ask you what had just happened, you wouldn’t be able to put it into words, not really.
heeseung for his part, is blissfully unaware of the chaos he has let loose in your mind, humming softly to himself as he steps out into the warm sunlight outside the clinic. in his head, it’s a simple, almost mundane action.
at least, that’s what it is now. because it’ll be a while before he would be able to admit to himself, that the care he has for you, comes from a place deeper in his chest, where the intricacies of friendship and adoration and something unnamed swirl together so tightly that even he can’t quite untangle them yet.
heeseung doesn’t know that the ordinary care he shows, the easy familiarity, is slowly weaving a thread between the two of you that neither of you can yet name. he doesn’t know that the quiet tug in his chest, the inexplicable pull whenever you’re near, is the beginning of something more. and he certainly doesn’t know that, even now, you’re beginning to feel it too – subtle, and hesitant – though neither of you has a word for it yet.
and somewhere back in the clinic, you’re trying to make sense of the flutter in your chest. you didn’t have a word for it yet, couldn’t quite place it in the neat boxes of “friend” or “yunah’s brother” that you’d always kept it in. but the way your stomach had twisted when his fingers brushed your hair, the way your eyes had unconsciously followed him as he disappeared into the sunlight… it lingered.
and even if you didn’t know it yet, that careful, unnoticed attention he gave you was slowly carving out a space in your heart that was quietly, irrevocably, beginning to belong to him.
part six.
the summer had gone from bearable to unbearable in what felt like the span of a week. the mornings still carried a faint softness, but by midday, the heat pressed against the house like a living thing, sticky and relentless. the air conditioning in your – yunah’s room – faithful until now, had decided to give up on a tuesday morning.
you woke to sticky skin and the uncomfortable feeling of warm sheets sticking to your even warmer body, and immediately knew: this was going to be a long, sweltering week.
heeseung noticed before you even had a chance to complain. you found him in the kitchen, shirt damp at the back from the heat, hands wrapped around a cold glass of water, frowning at you as though he could already read the sticky, exhausted air clinging to your skin.
“you okay?” he asked casually, though his sharp eyes betrayed concern.
“i’m fine,” you muttered, waving off the question. you didn’t want to admit that the heat had already begun to fray your nerves, but despite yourself, you decide to tell him anyway.
“uhh, the ac in my room stopped working last night i guess…?”
heeseung’s frown deepened just a fraction, a crease forming between his brows. he set the glass down carefully, hands lingering on the counter as he studied you. “oh shit, i’m sorry, i’ll get it looked at as soon as possible,” he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to you. then his gaze lifted, sharp and direct. “you can sleep in my room till then, i’ll take the couch.”
you blinked at him, caught off guard. “wait—what? no, that’s… that’s fine, really. i can deal with it. the couch is—”
“nope,” he interrupted smoothly, shaking his head, “i can survive on the couch, you should take my room. besides, the air conditioning works fine in the living room, so it’s not a bother.”
“then i’ll take the couch!” you protest, but you could already see that he had made the decision and it no surprise that you don’t stand a chance against it, but you still try, “heeseung, you can’t just sleep on the couch in your own house,” you said weakly, half-annoyed.
how is it that you keep being such a bother all the time.
heeseung tilted his head, that infuriating half-smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and leaned casually against the counter. “couch’s mine, bed’s yours.” he says with a finality.
you forced a scoff, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. internally, you were seething, mostly at yourself, but also annoyed at how he could just make these decisions and you wouldn’t really be able to argue.
by mid-morning, you were at the clinic, clipboard in hand, armed with a small spray bottle to mist the cats and dogs who were panting under the relentless sun. the heat had affected them just as much as the humans, and it made you ache a little to see them restless.
you moved between cages and carriers, offering water, adjusting blankets, and sometimes speaking softly to the pets, letting your voice act as a calm presence. a golden retriever wagged his tail so hard that his entire back end seemed to wiggle; you crouched to scratch behind his ears, muttering little encouragements.
somewhere along the day, you found yourself back at the isolation ward, heart thudding in a quieter rhythm, because today, thankfully, miso was doing well. he nuzzled against your fingers with a faint, satisfied purr, and you couldn’t help the relieved laugh that escaped, soft and breathy.
“you’ve been doing well, huh?” you murmured, brushing a gentle hand along his back. the fragile warmth of his tiny body pressed against your palm, and for a moment the chaos of the day fell away. a quiet kind of happiness you hadn’t allowed yourself in days bloomed in your chest.
checking his vitals was almost routine now, but the ease with which he let you handle him, the way he responded to your voice, made you feel a little braver. you adjusted his blanket, whispered reminders to stay cozy, and even teased him about his stubborn little stretches. “don’t get too comfortable,” you said softly. “you’ve got a long life ahead of you.”
you stayed longer than necessary, watching him, counting his breaths and finding some strange comfort in the rhythm. when it was finally time to leave, you lingered at the incubator one last time, pressing a hand against the glass. “see you later, miso,” you whispered, and the kitten responded with a tiny, satisfied squeak. the corners of your lips curved into a small, genuine smile as you stood back, today, at least, you’d made a difference.
by the time you were out of the clinic, it was already 8:30. the streetlights glowed softly, casting long shadows across the pavement. you had obviously fallen into the routine of letting heeseung pick you up from the bus stop, but tonight you’re met with the sight of his car parked right out front and his lean frame leaning against the hood as his eyes scanned the few people leaving the clinic.
your stomach did a weird little flip. “he—heeseung?” you said, half incredulous, half flustered. you hadn’t expected this, you thought the heat was making you hallucinate.
heeseung straightened at the sound of your voice, pushing off the hood casually, though there was a faint grin tugging at his lips. “surprise, i was actually on my way to the grocery store and thought… if you weren’t too tired, you might want to join me.”
suddenly the tiredness that had seeped into your bones earlier was suddenly replaced by a curious energy, a mix of surprise and something warmer, softer that fluttered uncomfortably in your chest.
“yeah sure, of course i’ll come along.” you hoped desperately that you did not sound too eager saying that.
heeseung’s grin widened just a fraction as he opened the passenger door for you. “great. i promise i won’t make you carry anything heavy… unless you want to show off your superhuman strength.”
you laughed softly, the sound lighter than it had been all day, and slid into the seat. the familiar smell of the car and faint traces of his cologne hit you harder tonight, and you felt your pulse quicken without quite knowing why. heeseung started the engine, the quiet hum filling the space between you, and for a moment, the city felt suspended, the sticky heat of the day falling away behind the car’s air-conditioned comfort.
“so… miso was really good today,” you began before you could stop yourself, leaning slightly toward the window to let a cool breeze hit your flushed cheeks. “he was nuzzling my hand when i checked on him, i don’t how i’ll be able to part with him, oh but i do so want him to get better soon.”
heeseung listens to your little spiel, the smile on his lips a natural occurrence at this point whenever he hears you talk. he sometimes think of the first week you had met him and how absolutely quiet you had been – words measured and careful, like you were testing the waters before letting anyone in. and now… to see you share about your day on your own, the way your hands gestured slightly… it made something in his chest tighten in a way that was both gentle and insistent.
heeseung kept his eyes on the road, the soft hum of the engine filling the space. “sounds like he’s got you wrapped around his…paws.”
you nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “yeah. i don’t know, it just felt… nice, seeing him so calm for once.” you looked out the window, feeling the night air drift in through the slightly cracked vent. “it’s easy with animals. they don’t complicate things.”
he can only hum in response, unsure of how to respond to that – not because he doesn’t care, but because he genuinely doesn’t know what to say without breaking the quiet rhythm of the moment.
the automatic doors of the tiny grocery store slid open with a faint whoosh, the bright, artificial light washing over you both as you stepped inside. heeseung was already pushing the cart, humming a low, lazy tune under his breath.
you wandered down the produce aisle first, picking up some bananas and inspecting carefully. beside you, heeseung almost comically slaps a watermelon to inspect it, drawing a snort of laughter from you.
“this is how you test whether they’re ripe!” he protests at your giggles, but the look of genuinity on his face makes you clutch your stomach as you laugh harder.
heeseung grinned at your reaction, clearly pleased with himself, and gave the watermelon a mock bow. “thank you, thank you. i live to educate the masses.”
you shook your head, still laughing softly, and tucked the bananas into the cart. heeseung moved ahead a few steps to the next aisle, glancing back over his shoulder. you noticed the way his t-shirt stretched slightly across his broad shoulders and – oh. that sudden, almost electric jolt in your chest made you pause mid-step, your hand frozen in the air over a bag of apples. you blinked, shaking your head slightly, trying to dismiss the suddenness of the moment.
heeseung hummed softly, probably oblivious to the short circuit you’d just experienced, and turned to pick up some onions. you followed at a slightly more cautious distance, suddenly hyper-aware of every movement he made.
it was ridiculous, really.
you’d known he was… objectively attractive the first time you met him. anyone with functioning eyesight could see that. but that had been filed away neatly under yunah’s brother, under person you happen to be living with for the summer, under nice guy who makes breakfast and nags you about eating actual meals – safe categories.
none of those categories involved the strange way your stomach had just flipped because he turned a corner in a grocery store aisle.
you grabbed a bag of apples mostly so your hands had something to do. ahead of you, heeseung crouched slightly to grab something from the lower shelf. the movement pulled the fabric of his shirt taut across his back again, the line of his shoulders shifting as he stood up. your brain, traitorous thing that it was, chose that exact moment to catalogue the fact that he was… broad.
you blinked again, quickly looking away before he could turn around. get it together.
you trailed behind him through the next aisle, only half paying attention to what he was tossing into the cart. pasta. a carton of eggs. something in a glass jar that clinked softly when it landed beside the bananas.
“do we need milk?” he asked over his shoulder. you startled slightly, realizing he’d been talking to you.
“uh— yeah. yeah, probably.”
he nodded and pushed the cart toward the refrigerated section. for the most part, the rest of the trip blurred together. not because nothing was happening, but because your brain seemed determined to loop back to the same unhelpful thought every few seconds.
your thoughts kept circling the same thing; the mornings when he’d woken up early to make breakfast, the way he’d throw a blanket over you if you fell asleep on the couch with a book open on your chest, the way he would angle the table fan toward you without saying anything when the heat got unbearable.
you hadn’t thought much about it before. it had just… become normal. part of the routine of living here. but now, standing in the middle of a grocery store aisle watching him frown over the ripeness of fruits, you had a brief, unsettling realization.
you liked it.
you liked the way he looked out for you, you liked the way he teased you just enough to make you roll your eyes, you liked the easy rhythm that had somehow formed between the two of you over the past weeks. you frowned at a bag of chips you’d been staring at for too long.
he was just being nice to you though. if you started assuming your feelings on the basis of that, you’d only be setting yourself up for disappointment.
you shifted the bag of chips in your hand, then put it back on the shelf like you’d never picked it up in the first place.
people were nice all the time. it didn’t have to mean anything. heeseung was just… like that. easygoing. thoughtful. none of that had anything to do with you specifically. you can’t go…falling for every second person that was nice to you. right?
“are you planning to buy that or stare it into submission?” heeseung’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts.
you blinked, realizing you’d been standing in front of the same shelf for far too long.
“what?” you said dumbly.
he was leaning one arm over the handle of the cart now, watching you with mild amusement, a pack of instant noodles dangling loosely from his other hand. as if sensing the teasing comment coming, you hastily toss it into the cart. he chuckles under his breath and turns into the next aisle.
you followed, still trying to quiet the restless little voice in the back of your mind that kept replaying the same realization. suddenly you willed your eyes to look anywhere but at his broad back and his stupidly soft-looking hair.
it didn’t help that he had just pushed his hand through it a second ago, absentmindedly, ruffling the strands in a way that made them fall messily back into place.
this is stupid.
heeseung was just… heeseung. yunah’s brother. your ride to and from the bus stop. the guy who made breakfast like it was a personal mission and nagged you about eating actual meals. it’s normal to be touched by those gestures. right…you were simply thankful to have someone reliable like him look out for you, that’s all this was.
by the time you reached the checkout counter, the store had grown even quieter. the fluorescent lights hummed faintly overhead while the cashier scanned items with slow, mechanical movements.
heeseung packed the groceries without much thought, sliding heavier items into the bottom of the bags and lighter ones on top. when the last item was scanned, he lifted most of the bags in one motion.
you instinctively reached for one, but his arm shifted slightly, moving the bag just out of your reach without even looking.
“hey,” you said. “i can carry some.”
“i’ve got it.” he adjusted the bags in his hands, the plastic rustling quietly, “you’ve been on your feet all day,” he finished simply.
you frowned, still hovering beside him with your hand half-extended. “so?”
“so,” he said patiently, like the answer should be obvious. “you don’t need to carry groceries too.”
he doesn’t even wait to argue anymore and that there – that right there – was something you were still unable to get used to. how you just let him take over the small things without fighting him on it, without immediately stepping in to prove that you could help him too.
you fall into step beside him automatically, the doors sliding open with a soft whoosh as you both step back into the warm night air. the parking lot is quieter now, the late hour thinning out the small crowd that had been inside earlier. the heat has softened just slightly, though the pavement still radiates warmth under your shoes.
you had spent most of your life making sure no one had to do things for you. it had never even been a conscious decision, rather just something that happened naturally over time. if you were tired, you pushed through it. if something needed to be done, you handled it. asking for help had always felt… unnecessary at best, uncomfortable at worst.
so it unsettles you a little, how easily you fall into step beside him, how natural it feels to just… allow it, like somewhere along the way you’ve stopped bracing yourself against the idea of relying on someone, even in these small, inconsequential ways.
your gaze drops briefly to the grocery bags swinging lightly from his hands; you could insist again, reach over, grab one before he notices. but the moment stretches quietly, and instead you just keep walking.
you reach the edge of the parking row just as heeseung slows slightly, turning toward where his car sits under one of the streetlights. the light casts a pale glow across the hood, the metal still faintly warm from the heat of the day.
you’re about to step off the curb when something small and gray darts out from beneath the car parked beside his; a cat.
it bounds toward you with surprising confidence, tail flicking as it circles your ankles once before letting out a short, demanding meow. you stop mid-step. heeseung pauses too, the bags shifting slightly in his hands as he looks down.
you crouch before you even realize you’re doing it.
“hey, hey—where did you come from?” you murmur softly, reaching out a tentative hand.
the cat wastes no time. it presses its head straight into your palm, purring like a tiny engine the moment your fingers scratch behind its ears.
a small laugh slips out of you, quiet but genuine, the tension of the long day easing out of your shoulders almost instantly. the cat circles your feet again before settling beside you, leaning heavily into the attention like it had been waiting for it all evening.
“well you’re friendly,” you whisper, running your hand gently down its back.
behind you, heeseung shifts his weight slightly, grocery bags still looped around both wrists. the plastic rustles faintly as he adjusts his grip, but he doesn’t interrupt. he just watches.
it’s the first time he’s actually seen you interact with an animal outside of the stories you tell him over dinner. normally it’s just descriptions of the nervous golden retriever from the waiting room, the stubborn old cat that scratched the vet tech, the tiny kitten you worry over like it’s your own.
but seeing it is… different. you don’t seem self-conscious at all.
your whole posture softens, shoulders dropping as you crouch there in the dim parking lot light, murmuring to the stray like it understands every word. your fingers move with an easy familiarity along the cat’s spine, scratching under its chin in exactly the right spot. the cat practically melts under your hand.
the streetlight above casts a soft amber glow over the scene, catching the faint shine in the cat’s fur and the loose strands of hair that have fallen into your face.
heeseung shifts his weight slightly, the grocery bags rustling in his hands, but he doesn’t interrupt. there’s something oddly calming about the way you’re crouched there, completely absorbed in the small gray creature weaving around your legs. it’s such a simple moment that he almost misses how long he’s been standing there watching, a strange warmth settling somewhere in his chest before he finally shifts the bags again and clears his throat lightly, as if reminding himself he’s still in the middle of a parking lot.
eventually the cat gives one last satisfied nudge against your palm before slipping away, disappearing back under the parked car it had come from.
your hand lingers in the air for a second after it’s gone, fingers curling slightly as if you half expect it to return. then you straighten slowly, brushing your palms against your jeans.
“sorry,” you say, glancing over at him with a sheepish little shrug. “habit.”
heeseung blinks once, the spell of the moment breaking.
“that’s fine, you looked like you enjoyed it.” it's almost exhilarating to see the way you seemingly flush, fingers scratching the back of your neck in a motion he has come to realise you do when you’re nervous or sheepish.
then he shifts the grocery bags in his hands and jerks his head lightly toward the car. “c’mon,” he says, like nothing unusual had just happened, turning toward it before you can apologize again. but as you walk beside him, brushing a bit of stray fur from your jeans, he finds his gaze drifting back to you for a second longer than necessary before he looks away again, telling himself it’s nothing more than the same quiet fondness he’s grown used to feeling whenever you’re around.
part seven.
that night, you collapsed into the cool sheets of his room, the fan running just above your head, and somewhere down the hall, heeseung had resigned himself to the living room couch, a faint smile tugging at his lips. you caught yourself thinking, a little shamefully, that the thought of him there, sacrificing himself for your comfort, made your chest flutter in a way you weren’t entirely prepared for.
you’re in his room. it’s such a simple fact, but it sits heavily in your mind as you change into sleep clothes and slide under the sheets.
the mattress dips slightly differently beneath your weight, the pillow firmer than the one you’re used to, the blanket thinner. when you turn your face toward the pillow, you catch the faintest scent lingering in the fabric. laundry detergent, probably the same brand yunah uses, but underneath it there’s something warmer. subtler. something that doesn’t belong to soap or fabric softener.
something that is just… him. the realization makes your chest tighten unexpectedly, and you immediately roll onto your back again, staring up at the ceiling like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t.
it’s ridiculous, it’s just a bed! still, you find yourself lying unusually still, careful not to shift too much under the blankets. like if you move too freely, you’ll somehow erase the quiet evidence that this was his space long before it became yours for the week.
your gaze drifts around the room.
heeseung isn’t particularly messy, but the room doesn’t feel staged either. there’s his guitar propped against the wall beside his desk, a few loose sheets of music sit on his desk, some toy figurines placed in a neat row on top of the shelf above it. the desk itself has the clutter of someone who actually uses it – pens scattered in a chipped mug, a phone charger trailing across the surface, a small stack of notebooks.
your eyes land on the chair beside the desk.
there’s a t-shirt draped over the back of it, sleeves hanging loose like it had been tossed there at the end of a long day. you recognize it, he’d been wearing it a couple nights ago when you’d both stayed out under the peach tree longer than usual; its faded neckline and the way it would stretch across his chest whenever he’d lean back against the tree trunk–
your heart is beating just a little too fast for someone who’s supposed to be falling asleep. the fan whirs overhead, stirring the warm air in slow, steady circles. every now and then it shifts a loose strand of your hair across your cheek, the small movement startlingly loud in the otherwise quiet room, the hum of the ac is steady.
down the hall, the couch creaks faintly again. you picture him there without meaning to.
sprawled awkwardly across the cushions, one arm probably thrown over his eyes the way he does when he’s trying to sleep somewhere that isn’t quite comfortable enough. his legs are too long for the couch – you know that much from the few times you’ve seen him stretched out there watching tv.
he’ll probably wake up with a stiff neck. the thought makes you frown slightly.
you roll onto your side again, tugging the blanket closer around your shoulders. the fabric shifts softly, the pillow dipping beneath your cheek.
it shouldn’t matter. you’re only here for a few nights. maybe a week if the repair takes longer than expected. after that, the room will go back to being exactly what it was before – his space, untouched by your temporary presence.
except things do start to matter when the next morning you wake up and stumble into the living room, only to find heeseung in the kitchen.
the morning light is already spilling through the windows, turning the whole space a soft, washed-out gold. the fan in the corner hums lazily, pushing warm air around the room, the windows pushed open to let the summer air drift in. it smells faintly like garlic and something is sizzling in the pan, and he’s standing there in the middle of it all in a loose tank top that clings just slightly to his shoulders.
you notice it mostly because he keeps pushing his hair back with the back of his wrist, a little distracted, a little flushed from the heat. there’s a faint sheen of sweat along the side of his neck. at some point he pauses whatever he’s doing and reaches for the glass on the counter. he fills it quickly from the jug, tilts his head back, and drinks like he’s been meaning to for a while.
you didn’t mean to stare before, but now you were acutely aware that you were gaping at the sight. not in a perverted way, but you weren’t exactly expecting to be met with this kind of predicament before nine in the morning.
his throat moves as he swallows, slow and steady, and his adam’s apple bobs with each gulp of water. a drop escapes the corner of his mouth and trails down, disappearing somewhere at the edge of his collarbone where the tank top dips low.
he lowers the glass with a small exhale, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, completely unaware of the fact that you’ve been watching the entire time.
you clear your throat softly, but it comes out louder than expected.
heeseung turns slightly at the sound, glancing over his shoulder. his hair falls forward again immediately, the strands sticking to his forehead from the heat.
“oh,” he says, a little surprised. “morning.”
“morning,” you reply quickly.
your voice sounds normal, which feels like a minor miracle. he turns back to the stove, completely unaware of the small internal crisis you’ve just experienced. the pan hisses again when he nudges the eggs around with the spatula.
“you’re up early,” he adds.
“couldn’t sleep.” it’s not exactly a lie. you had slept – but waking up in his room had left you just disoriented enough that your body decided wandering into the kitchen was the next logical step.
you hover near the doorway for a second longer before stepping inside. the floor is cool under your feet. the smell of garlic grows stronger as you move closer, and you realize he’s probably been cooking for a while already.
heeseung glances sideways at you again. he reaches for a plate, sliding the eggs onto it before handing it over. your fingers brush his for half a second when you take it, the contact warm from the heat of the kitchen.
you immediately pretend to be very interested in the table. and when he finally grabs his own plate and drops into the chair opposite you, his tank top shifts again when he leans back, the loose fabric falling easily against his shoulders, you pretend to be very interested in your plate of food.
you’ve eaten breakfast across from him dozens of times by now. there’s nothing new about this; same table, same chairs, same quiet morning routine that has slowly settled into place over the past few weeks.
except now your brain seems determined to notice things it had apparently been ignoring before – the man sitting right in front of you.
outside, the morning is already warming up fast. sunlight spills through the open windows, catching the dust drifting lazily through the air, and somewhere down the street someone starts a motorcycle.
the fan continues its slow rotation above you. across the table, heeseung stretches one arm briefly, rolling his shoulder like it’s stiff from sleeping on the couch.
your eyes flick up automatically. right, he had slept on the couch.
“did you even sleep well?” you ask, trying to sound casual. “that couch is barely big enough for you.”
“i slept just fine, don’t worry about it,” he shrugs and before you have the chance to interject, he poses his own question, “were you comfortable last night? i called the electrician, he’s going to be here later this evening.”
you nod in positive, which is technically true. you had slept, eventually. you just don’t add the part where it took a while to stop being hyperaware of the fact that you were in his bed.
heeseung nods in acknowledgement, satisfied with your answer and goes back to his breakfast like the conversation is settled.
so you do the same, letting the moment pass, but it becomes a little hard to ‘let the moments pass’ because with each passing day, there’s a small shift in awareness.
like the way your shoulders seem to tense slightly when he walks into a room you’re already in. or how you find yourself sitting a little straighter when he pulls up to the bus stop in the evenings and you climb into the passenger seat. you hadn’t been like this before.
before, you would’ve just dropped into the seat with a tired sigh, tossing your bag somewhere near your feet while he asked about the clinic. before, you wouldn’t have noticed the way he leans across the center console sometimes to grab something from the glove compartment, his arm brushing past your shoulder for half a second before pulling away again.
now you notice it. now you notice everything. and you’re hundred percent sure that you’re the only one who’s blowing this up to be more than it is. because objectively speaking, heeseung has never outright done anything or even hinted, nor behaved in a way that could be interpreted as anything beyond what it already is.
which is… kindness. simple, uncomplicated kindness, which comes naturally to him.
you know you’re falling for his charm before you have a moment to sit with that realisation. you’re not dumb, you recognize the pattern. when someone is consistently kind, consistently present, your brain fills in the rest of the gaps whether you want it to or not.
except the thing that unsettles you is that this doesn’t feel like a misunderstanding. you’ve had people be nice to you before – friends who went out of their way to help you or even classmates who tried a little too hard to be thoughtful when they realized you were the type who never asked for help.
none of that had ever made your chest tighten the way it does now when heeseung helps you fold the laundry sitting on his floor on a lazy saturday afternoon.
when did that happen? you try to think back, to find a moment where things shifted, but there isn’t one. it’s just a collection of small things that apparently added up without your permission.
the way he waits outside the clinic instead of letting you take the bus alone. the way he leans against the kitchen counter in the mornings while you complain about the heat, half-listening and half-smiling like he already knows exactly what you’re going to say. the way evenings seem to end up under the peach tree more often than not, guitar resting lazily in your laps while the air cools just enough to make sitting outside bearable.
none of those moments had felt particularly significant when they happened, but now they sit in your memory differently.
by the time he picks you up from the clinic that evening, the thought has settled somewhere quietly in the back of your mind, stubbornly refusing to disappear.
you had decided to take a shower the minute you got back, hoping the cool water would wash away the lingering fatigue of the clinic visit and the stubborn tightness in your shoulders. you throw on the first soft shirt you can find – a faded, oversized t-shirt you discovered in yunah’s room – and shrug it over your damp body. it drapes loosely over your frame, reaching halfway down your thighs.
when you come out of the shower, the house is quiet. you pad barefoot to the living room, your eyes searching for the familiar figure of heeseung and then you notice him outside in the yard.
you pause at the doorway, breath catching just slightly at the sight. standing perfectly still, the last of the fading golden light catches the softness of his coppery hair, the sharp lines of his jaw and the curve of his shoulders. his head is tilted up, watching the peach blossoms filtering sunlight around him, making him look almost unreal – ethereal in fact, in your view.
the grass under your bare feet is cool and soft, tickling your toes as you take a hesitant step onto the lawn. each step feels strangely grounding, the small sensation tethering you to the moment even as your heart starts to hammer in your chest. you keep your eyes on him, on the quiet reverence in the way he holds himself.
he hears the soft shuffle of your footsteps and turns to you slowly.
“uh… hi,” you murmur, tugging a little at the hem of your t-shirt, suddenly aware of how loose it is and the way it practically hides the shorts you’ve put on.
heeseung’s head tilts slightly, brows lifting as his gaze flicks over you. his eyes trace the way the cloth sits loosely over your frame, your thighs partially obscured, the hem brushing against your skin. it clicks in an instant that you probably don’t know – that’s his t-shirt you’re wearing.
the corner of his mouth twitches in a way that almost looks like amusement, though he keeps his expression calm. then he straightens fully, hands still clasped behind his back, deciding silently that it’s better to let you remain blissfully unaware, because if he spoke, you’d probably stumble over words and start apologizing, and he doesn’t want that.
“what are you hiding?” you ask, tilting your head, curiosity getting the better of you.
heeseung steps forward just a little, the corners of his mouth lifting in a playful grin. he brings his hands into view slowly, and there, cupped gently in his palms, are two peaches. they’re perfect – plump, round, and heavy with ripeness. they glow a deep, almost blushing coral-pink with warm golden yellow streaks. a faintly sweet, summery scent drifts toward you, making your stomach tighten with anticipation.
“are those…” your voice trails off in a breathy whisper. you don’t why you’re so excited over peaches, but the sight of them in his hands feels like a tiny, perfect gift meant just for you.
heeseung’s grin widens just slightly, enough to make his eyes crinkle at the corners. “yep. from the tree,” he says casually, though there’s a faint spark of pride in his voice. “i thought… they were ripe now. and i promised you the first ones, so…” he shrugs, but the little pause at the end makes it clear he’s been looking forward to this small moment, too.
your hand moves toward them almost instinctively, brushing lightly against his fingers as you take one. the fruit is warm and soft, the skin yielding to your touch. you lift it toward your lips, taking a careful bite.
the moment your teeth sink into the peach, juice bursting against your tongue, it’s like summer condensed into a single, perfect taste – sweet, faintly tart, with a floral undertone that lingers on the roof of your mouth. the flesh is soft and almost melting, dripping with its own golden nectar, and the flavor is sharp enough to make your eyes widen for an instant, yet so ripe it feels indulgent, luxurious, something meant only for moments like this.
you can’t help the little gasp that escapes you, the pure, unfiltered delight that floods your face. you lift the peach again instinctively, biting with a sort of reverent eagerness, juice sliding down your chin without a care.
heeseung freezes for a heartbeat, watching. the sight of your unabashed enjoyment pins him in place, a quiet chokehold of amusement and something softer he doesn’t have a name for yet. the way your lips purse around the peach, the tiny dribble escaping unnoticed – all of it pulls at him, and for a second, he forgets to breathe.
then, instinctively, his fingers reach out, brushing lightly along the curve of your jaw to catch the errant juice. his thumb brushes across your chin, tracing the path of the sweet syrup from the corner of your lips, your skin soft under his touch, his fingers circling ever so slightly around the curve of your jaw. the touch is so gentle; and when your eyes flick up to meet his, he can see the flicker of surprise reflected in your widened gaze.
the air between you thickens instantly, heavier than it was a second ago. that simple, fleeting touch – the brush of his fingers against your skin, is enough to make your pulse spike, and you can’t look away. his eyes are fixed on yours, dark and quiet, but there’s something in the way they linger, something unspoken that makes the heat creeping up your neck feel almost too much to bear.
you pull back slightly, eyes widening, cheeks heating as he steps back and lets out a quiet hum of amusement.
“you’re making a mess,” he says, teasingly, though his tone is soft and warm, and with abject horror you watch as he lifts his thumb that had just traced across your skin to his own lips and then, before you can react, he licks it clean, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the sweetness himself.
your stomach drops, a mix of shock and something warmer coiling tight in your chest, as the entire room shrinks down to the small circle of heat and tension where you’re standing.
you catch your breath, cheeks flushing as you realize the quiet intimacy of it – the way he’s just allowed himself that closeness, the subtle brush of skin and the shared taste of the peach. the world outside seems to fade, blurring into background noise. all that matters is him, the peaches, and the tiny, reckless spark that has suddenly ignited between you, lingering in the charged silence.
heeseung clears his throat softly, though he doesn’t look away, giving you just enough space to process, just enough to feel the fluttering pulse in your chest, something unspoken, that hangs in the air long after the peach juice is gone.
part eight.
the past week had been… something.
heeseung knew it the moment you slid past him in the kitchen that monday morning, moving like a shadow with a quiet, deliberate urgency. usually, you’d linger a bit, make small talk and maybe even share a cup of coffee – but not anymore. now, it was all clipped “mornings” and careful footsteps.
heeseung had noticed the way you avoided him ever since that night with the peaches. at first, he tried to chalk it up to coincidence. but every day you’d rush through breakfast, your eyes fixed on your plate, or move around the apartment like you had somewhere urgent to be. even when he handed you the lunch he’d packed, you’d accepted it with a polite smile, as if afraid to linger.
the rides home from the clinic were the worst. the car felt smaller than it was, cramped not by space but by the silence between you. every turn, every stoplight, every passing car seemed louder than it had any right to be. heeseung could feel your stiffness in the seat beside him, the way your hands folded neatly in your lap, the careful avoidance of even the slightest brush against his arm. it was… new, and it was noticeable.
he was positive he saw you almost flinch when his hand brushed the gearshift knob, just a fraction too close to where your knee rested. every glance in the rearview mirror caught you staring forward, lips pressed into a line, jaw tight, shoulders stiff. you weren’t talking, not really, not like before. even your usual hums or sighs to break the silence had disappeared.
it reminded him of the first weeks you had arrived, and it honestly felt like deja vu. you were already four months into your stay here, and the knowledge was a bit alarming, because heeseung had realised with some profoundness that you only had about two months of your internship left, after which you would be gone again.
he didn’t know what to do with this newfound revelation. in hindsight, he had always been aware, of course, that you would leave at the end of six months, but he had grown accustomed to your presence in the past four months already, so much so that the thought of your absence now felt heavier than it should.
the house had begun to shape itself around you – the way your mug was left on the counter after breakfast, the soft hum of your laundry in the evenings, even the careless way you draped your legs on the couch late at night, bent over a book on the couch. small imprints of you had started to occupy spaces he hadn’t consciously realized were yours.
and now, with just two months left, every small avoidance, every stiffened smile, every careful distance you put between him and yourself, felt sharper, more urgent. heeseung found himself replaying the week over and over: the rides from the clinic, the quiet lunches, the way you’d scooted just a little farther away during guitar lessons.
heeseung tried to reason with himself. maybe it was just nerves. maybe you were stressed about work or tired or something else entirely. but even as he told himself that, he knew it wasn’t just that. your eyes avoided his, your laughter was quieter, and the warmth that had always filled the apartment when you were near had been muted somehow.
he missed it.
the change had been so drastic, it had left him grasping at the rudeness with which it had hit him. were you mad at him?
and the irony of it wasn’t lost on him though.
heeseung, of all people, who prided himself on reading people, who could usually tell in a glance when someone was upset, was fumbling in the dark with you. he didn’t know if he had said something wrong,or if he had crossed some invisible line, or if you were just… realizing things about him that you weren’t ready to face. the thought made his chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected.
instinctively, he remembers the fateful night when he had handed you the peach – that god darned fruit. the memory was so vivid it made his stomach twist, almost painfully, as if the scent of summer and sweetness still lingered in the air.
he could not, for the love of god, forget the way your lips had pursed around the fruit, the soft, startled gasp when he’d touched your jaw to wipe the juice. and then, that ridiculous, impulsive lick. his own fingers brushing over your skin, tasting what had been yours. he could still see your wide eyes, the subtle shiver that ran through you, and the quiet electricity that had hung between you in the aftermath. he had thought it had been harmless, playful even – but now, in the clarity of this week, he realized it had changed something.
because he had thought of that very moment multiple times already, replaying it in his head like a broken record player. and for some godforsaken reason, all he could think about was the way your lips had shimmered under the dim living room light, the juice glistening across them almost sinfully so.
heeseung ran a hand down his face, pressing into his eyes as if he could scrub the images away, but they only pressed back harder and more insistent. he hated that he couldn’t think of anything else; he hated that the peach, something so innocuous and summery, had somehow become a symbol of all the confusion he felt – his guilt, his desire, his frustration at himself, and the quiet, simmering longing he refused to name.
and worse, he realized with an unsettling clarity that it wasn’t just the memory of that night that haunted him. it was what had followed – the sudden coldness in your presence, the way you now avoided him, the clipped words, the careful distance. every time he saw you retreat even a fraction of an inch, he felt it like a punch to the chest. that night had changed you too, he realized, though he didn’t know if you were even aware of it, and he wasn’t sure which hurt more: that he had caused it, or that he had wanted to.
and that thought, quiet and insistent, gnawed at him. the realization that he might be feeling more than he should, that he could like you – not just as a roommate or friend, but something deeper – hit him with an almost dizzying force.
even as he wrestled with all of that, he saw your subtle attempts to avoid him, and it felt like a knife twisting in his gut – he wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap, to say something – anything – but he didn’t know where to start. the thought that he liked you, more than he should, more than was safe, only made the ache sharper.
he was caught between the memory of that night, the distance you now held, and the unspoken longing that made his chest feel impossibly tight.
you had, for most part, spent the better half of the week wishing and hoping against hope that the ground would split open and swallow you whole.
it had been exactly three days, but every time your mind wandered to what had happened that night, your skin tingled and burned, the ghost of his touch imprinted like a permanent mark you couldn’t erase.
you found yourself retreating without thinking. heeseung’s presence was too much and somehow not enough at the same time. you weren’t sure if you were running from him, from the memory of that night, or from the sharp clarity that you’d allowed yourself to feel more than you should.
the worst part was that his attempts at bridging the gap that you had created weren't lost on you. you had gone as far pretending to be too tired during the weekends to keep up with the guitar lessons. you remember the first time you told him, making up a pathetic excuse about how you had to study and were too tired before promptly shutting yourself in your room. the look on his face had been brief, almost imperceptible, but it had cut through you anyway. there was a flicker of disappointment, yes, but also… something almost akin to wariness, like he’d known before you even spoke that it wasn’t tiredness keeping you from sitting with him over the strings.
after that, you became careful. small movements, careful distances, avoiding the casual touches that had once been second nature. even the way you accepted the lunches he packed felt measured, as if you were protecting yourself from a spillover of emotions you couldn’t control. you didn’t look at him more than necessary; when you did, your eyes darted away before he could catch them.
you wanted to shrink, to disappear, to fold yourself into a corner of the house where he couldn’t reach you – not because you were angry, but because everything about him now made your thoughts spin and your pulse thrum in ways you didn’t know how to control.
you were good at running away. well, that’s what you would like to think. besides, you only had two months left here. and the biggest concern to you was that he was your best friend’s brother.
the thought hit you like a brick every time you tried to justify yourself, it was a line you weren’t supposed to cross, and yet the memory of that night made it feel irrelevant and almost ridiculous.
and yet, despite the retreat, despite every careful step you took to make yourself untouchable, there were tiny, unavoidable moments – when your resolve slipped. a brush of his sleeve when he reached for the water bottle, the sound of his voice humming absentmindedly downstairs, the faint scent of him lingering in the room after he’d left – each one made your stomach flip and your skin prickle, leaving you simultaneously terrified and exhilarated.
it was maddening. every instinct told you to protect yourself, to maintain the distance you had painstakingly carved out, but every fiber of you screamed that you wanted to step closer, to let the orbit shrink just enough so that you could fall into it, consequences be damned.
the two of you were teetering on the edge of this unspoken tension, a fragile line that neither of you dared cross but both were acutely aware of. two months felt impossibly short, and yet infinitely long, stretched taut by your own conflicting desires.
you hated yourself for it, and hated yourself more for wanting him all the same.
part nine.
heeseung had been spending more time outside under the peach tree, these days, alone in his own company, because you had made the invisible walls clear to him.
today was no different. the air was thick with late-summer humidity, the kind that made the sky look dull and heavy even before the sun had fully set and out here, beneath the wide canopy of the peach tree, there was space for the warm evening breeze, for the rustle of leaves overhead, and for thoughts he didn’t quite know what to do with yet.
his attention drifted back toward the quiet street in front of the yard just as the distant sound of an engine began to approach. at first it was nothing unusual; cars passed this road often enough. but the vehicle slowed as it neared the house, headlights sweeping across the front yard in a sudden wash of white light before the car rolled gently to a stop at the curb.
the driver’s side door opened.
a figure stepped out onto the pavement, arms stretching in an exaggerated display of relief. even from the yard he could see the familiar way she tilted her head back, glancing around like she was assessing the entire street at once.
“…yunah?” he called out, the name leaving him before he had fully processed what he was seeing. she turned immediately at the sound of his voice. the grin that spread across her face was unmistakable.
“heeseung!”
she abandoned the driver’s door without even closing it properly, dragging a small rolling suitcase behind her as she crossed the short distance from the curb to the gate. the wheels bumped loudly against the uneven pavement as she hurried toward the yard, her energy so sudden and bright that it cut clean through the quiet evening.
heeseung pushed himself to his feet, still staring at her like his brain hadn’t caught up with the situation yet.
“what are you doing here?” he asked, the question slipping out in a half-laugh of disbelief.
yunah finally stopped a few feet away from him, dropping the suitcase handle with a satisfied sigh as though she had just completed a long journey.
“what kind of greeting is that?” she said, placing one hand dramatically against her chest. “i drive all the way here and my own brother looks offended to see me.”
heeseung crossed his arms loosely, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “you didn’t say you were coming,” he pointed out.
“that’s because it’s called a surprise,” she replied immediately, gesturing toward the house with an impatient flick of her wrist. “where’s y/n?
as if summoned by the mention of your name, the front door creaked open behind them. you had heard the unfamiliar voice through the walls and stepped outside to investigate, wiping your hands absently against the sides of your shorts as you walked down the porch steps.
the moment your eyes landed on the figure standing in the yard, you stopped short.
“…yunah?”
she spun around dramatically at the sound of your voice, a gleeful yell of your name escaping her. the suitcase was completely forgotten as she rushed forward and pulled you into a quick, enthusiastic hug before you had fully processed what was happening. you laughed in surprise, still slightly stunned as you pulled back to look at her properly.
“what are you doing here?” you asked, glancing between her and heeseung like you were expecting someone to explain the situation.
“my friend had a dance competition in the town this weekend,” yunah explained easily, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face. “i came to watch and figured it would be stupid to book a hotel when i can just crash here for the weekend.”
“you didn’t even call,” you pointed out, though there was a smile tugging at your mouth now.
“that’s the whole point of a surprise visit,” she replied matter-of-factly.
her gaze lingered on your face a moment longer than necessary, the smile on her lips shifting into something more thoughtful.
“you look exhausted,” she said bluntly.
heeseung, still leaning against the low edge circling the peach tree, let out a quiet breath of amusement at that. the sound was small, but it was enough for yunah’s attention to snap toward him immediately.
“what?” yunah demanded, eyes narrowing with sudden curiosity. “why are you laughing like that?”
“i’m not,” heeseung replied, though the corner of his mouth twitched slightly as he pushed himself off the tree and stepped closer to the porch.
“liar,” yunah shot back instantly, pointing an accusing finger in his direction before turning back again. “and you—don’t try to change the subject. something’s clearly going on here.”
“there’s nothing going on,” came the quick reply, though the answer arrived a little too fast to feel natural.
yunah stared for another second, her gaze moving slowly between the two of you like she was piecing together a puzzle only she could see. then suddenly her entire expression shifted.
“oh my god,” she said, clapping her hands once with sudden enthusiasm, “y/n, we should go out for drinks!”
the suggestion landed so abruptly that for a second neither of you reacted.
you blinked at her, still halfway down the porch steps, trying to catch up with the sudden leap in conversation. “drinks?” the word came out slower than you meant it to, like your brain was still sorting through everything that had happened in the last five minutes. “you just got here.”
“exactly,” yunah replied immediately, as if that proved her point. she hooked her thumbs into the straps of her small crossbody bag and rocked back slightly on her heels, surveying both of you with renewed interest. “i drive all the way here, walk into the most depressing atmosphere i’ve ever experienced, and you expect me to sit inside all night? absolutely not.”
heeseung let out a short breath that was suspiciously close to a laugh. “you’ve been here for, what, three minutes?”
“and that was more than enough time to diagnose the situation,” yunah shot back without missing a beat. her attention shifted squarely toward you again, eyes narrowing slightly in that calculating way that meant she had already made up her mind. “seriously, when was the last time you left this house for something that wasn’t work?”
you opened your mouth to answer, then stopped. yunah’s eyebrows lifted slowly.
“…that’s what i thought,” she said, nodding once like she had just confirmed a theory.
a quiet protest followed, something about being tired and the clinic having been busy all week, but yunah waved it away almost immediately.
“even more reason,” she insisted. “one drink. two, maybe. nothing crazy.” her gaze flicked toward heeseung for a moment, as if remembering he was still part of the conversation. “you don’t mind, right?”
heeseung shrugged lightly, though his eyes lingered on your face a second longer than necessary. “why would i mind?”
“because you look like you’re about to give a lecture about responsibility,” yunah replied dryly. heeseung simply rolls his eyes at her.
yunah turned back to you before he could say anything else, clapping her hands together once more with renewed determination. “come on. change into something nice and we’ll go find a place nearby. i refuse to spend my one free weekend in this town sitting in the living room.”
heeseung is left flabbergasted, the look on his face eliciting a small smile from you. but maybe it was good it would be just the two of you. you don’t think you could handle the lee siblings together tonight.
you shifted slightly on the porch, caught somewhere between amusement and mild embarrassment, clearly aware that yunah had bulldozed straight through the conversation without consulting anyone.
“it’s just one drink,” you said quietly, almost apologetically. “we’ll probably be back early.”
“don’t ruin the vibe already,” yunah complained, making a loud, exaggerated noise behind you. “we’re not going out just to come back in an hour.”
you disappeared upstairs into your room before she could say anything else, the familiar quiet of the house settling briefly around you again. for a moment you leaned against the bedroom door after closing it, letting out a long breath.
downstairs, yunah’s voice drifted faintly through the walls as she moved around the living room, apparently continuing to complain about the town’s lack of nightlife.
you shook your head slightly and pushed away from the door.
the change of clothes didn’t take long. you had nothing too fancy packed anyway, so it was just a pair of dark jeans and a soft fitted shirt that had been sitting folded at the bottom of the bag since you got here.
the fabric sat properly instead of hanging off you, and for the first time in months, you looked like someone heading out for the evening instead of someone who had just stumbled home from a long shift.
before leaving the room, you had paused in front of the small mirror near the dresser. almost absentmindedly, your hand had reached for the tube of lip gloss sitting near the corner of the bag that had been sitting there untouched for ages.. the color was barely there when it spread across your lips, just a faint sheen that caught the light when you pressed them together once.
you hadn’t thought much about it when applying it. but the moment you stepped back into the living room and saw heeseung there, suddenly the decision felt much more noticeable.
yunah was the first to react. her eyes flicked up and down quickly, and the grin that followed was immediate.
“well,” she said slowly, leaning back against the couch with clear satisfaction. “look at that.”
you rolled your eyes, tugging lightly at the hem of the shirt like you suddenly weren’t sure about the choice anymore.
“what?”
“nothing,” yunah replied, though the tone suggested the opposite. “just appreciating the effort.”
heeseung hadn’t said anything yet. he was standing near the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, one hand resting loosely against the frame. at first his expression was neutral, like he was still halfway through whatever thought he had been having before you walked in.
then his gaze lifted properly and something in his expression shifted, almost imperceptibly. his eyebrows lifted just slightly, like he hadn’t expected the change, like he was quietly recalibrating the version of you he had gotten used to seeing every day.
you felt the sudden awareness of being looked at. of the way the clothes fit, of the faint gloss on your lips, of the fact that this was the first time in months you hadn’t been standing in front of him wearing something oversized and half-asleep.
your hand drifted automatically to the strap of your bag again. for some reason you felt painfully visible all of a sudden.
heeseung straightened a little where he stood, like he had been caught staring longer than intended – he had been staring longer than intended.
“…you look nice,” he said after a brief pause.
for a second you didn’t know how to respond. the compliment sat awkwardly in the air between you, making the room feel a little smaller than it had a moment ago.
you are saved from the mortifying ordeal of coming up with a reply when yunah suddenly claps her hands together behind you.
“alright,” she declared brightly, completely oblivious to the strange little bubble that had formed in the room. “enough dilly dallying, we’re leaving!”
heeseung stepped aside slightly, giving the two of you space to pass through the living room.
as you moved past him, the awareness returned immediately. for a split second your shoulder almost brushed his arm, and you felt yourself instinctively slow just enough to avoid the contact.
behind you, heeseung lingered near the doorway.
“don’t stay out too late,” he called casually, leaning one shoulder against the frame.
yunah groaned dramatically without even turning around.
“oh my god,” she complained. “why are you like this?”
for a brief moment you glanced back. the porch light cast a warm halo around him. he was still looking in your direction, expression unreadable but calm, like he had settled back into the quiet rhythm of the evening the moment you stepped away. and by the time you turned the corner at the end of the street, the house had already disappeared behind the trees.
a faint warmth still lingered in your chest anyway, stubbornly following you into the night.
approximately an hour and a half later, the two of you were seated at a small wooden table tucked toward the back of a dimly lit bar, the low thrum of music and scattered chatter filling the space around you.
the table in front of you was cluttered now – two empty bottles pushed aside, another pair of drinks sweating slowly onto the wood. the nervous energy you had carried out of the house had long since softened into something warmer, helped along by alcohol and the easy familiarity of yunah’s presence.
the two of you hadn’t seen each other properly in months, and once the conversation started it had been difficult to stop.
yunah had talked animatedly about the competition she’d driven down to watch that weekend, reenacting entire moments with exaggerated gestures. from there the stories had drifted into everything else that had happened over the summer.
you had laughed more in that hour than you had all week.
in return, you had told yunah about the clinic – about the strange rhythm of working somewhere so quiet compared to the city. the way the days stretched differently here. the odd little stories that piled up when you spent enough time around animals and the people who brought them in. miso had come up somewhere in the middle of it, and yunah had listened with genuine interest as you described the tiny kitten that had somehow become part of your life.
but eventually the stories began to thin out. the music from the speakers filled the pauses, and yunah leaned back in her chair, bottle resting loosely between her fingers as she watched you with that familiar calculating look.
she studies your face for a moment longer than expected, like she’s assembling something in her mind piece by piece. then she leans forward, resting both elbows on the table.
“…okay,” yunah said slowly, voice dropping just a notch. “what’s going on between you and my brother?”
the question hit so directly you almost choked on your drink. you coughed lightly, setting the bottle down a little too quickly. “what?”
yunah didn’t even blink. “you heard me.”
for a moment you just stared at her, genuinely thrown off by how quickly she had jumped to that conclusion. the two of you had barely been sitting there ten minutes.
“that’s—nothing’s going on,” you said, the words coming out faster than intended.
yunah’s eyes narrowed immediately.
“that was the fastest lie i’ve heard from you,” yunah replied calmly, leaning back again like she had all the time in the world. “seriously, you two were standing in that living room like someone had pressed pause on the entire house.”
“it was that obvious?” you blinked again, surprised.
yunah let out a quiet laugh. “to me? yeah.” she took another sip of her drink, watching you over the rim of the bottle. “i grew up with him. i know exactly what he looks like when something’s stuck in his head.”
your fingers tightened slightly around the neck of your glass. the noise of the bar hummed softly around you, but suddenly the table felt a little too small for the conversation that had just started.
“…it’s not like that,” you said after a moment, quieter now.
yunah didn’t push right away. instead she waited, gaze steady, like she was giving you the space to decide whether you were going to keep pretending or not.
“you know you can just say it,” yunah added eventually, tone gentler this time. “i’m not going to bite.”
for a moment you didn’t answer, your fingers tracing slowly along the rim of the glass as the foam settled back into the drink. the alcohol had begun to warm your chest, loosening the careful grip you usually kept on your thoughts. you kept your gaze on the table, turning the truth over in your mind because it was uncomfortably simple. maybe it was the drinks, maybe yunah’s steady gaze across from you, or maybe you were just tired of pretending.
you picked up the bottle and took another long sip before answering. when you set it down again, you let out a quiet breath.
“…i think i like him.”
the admission slipped past your lips almost carefully, as if you yourself didn't believe it. for a moment yunah didn’t react. then her eyebrows lifted slightly, and the corner of her mouth curved into a slow grin.
“that’s it?”
your head snapped up immediately, confusion flashing across your face.
“what do you mean that’s it?” you asked, almost incredulous.
“you said it like you were confessing to something illegal,” yunah replied lightly, leaning back in her chair again as she took another sip of her drink. “i was expecting a much bigger revelation.”
you stared at her, still trying to reconcile the calmness of her reaction with the anxiety that had been twisting in your chest all week.
“he’s your brother,” you pointed out carefully, as if the statement alone should explain everything.
“yes,” yunah said simply.
“and you’re not… weird about that?”
yunah tilted her head slightly, studying your expression for a moment before setting her bottle down.
“why would i be?” she asked.
you hesitated, searching for the right way to explain the knot that had been sitting stubbornly in your chest ever since that night under the peach tree.
“i just thought you’d think it was complicated,” you admitted quietly. “or… inappropriate. or something.”
yunah let out a small laugh at that, shaking her head.
“relax. i'm not anal like that.” she swirled the last bit of her drink lazily before setting the bottle down. “i’m just trying to understand how this even happened.”
“it’s not like there was some moment where everything suddenly changed,” you said slowly. “at least i don’t think there was.” your fingers traced the damp ring your glass had left on the table as you spoke. “it just kind of… crept up on me.”
yunah listened quietly, head tilted slightly.
“i’ve been staying here for four months now,” you continued, shrugging a little. “at some point you get used to someone being around. the routines start overlapping. you cook dinner together, sit in the living room, talk about random things after work. it just becomes normal.” you paused briefly, lifting your glass for another sip before adding more quietly, “i guess i didn’t realize when normal started feeling… different.”
yunah let out a soft hum of understanding, leaning back again.
“that makes sense,” she said. “you’ve basically been living together. people get attached when they share space like that.”
you looked up at her, a little surprised by how easily she said it.
“so what are you going to do about it?” she asked after a moment.
the question made you pause. you hadn’t really let yourself think that far ahead. your fingers curled around the glass again as you leaned back slightly in your chair, staring at the condensation sliding down the side of it.
“i don’t know,” you admitted eventually. “that’s kind of the problem.”
yunah didn’t rush to respond. she studied your face for a moment, clearly reading the uncertainty there.
“you’re leaving in two months,” she said quietly, connecting the dots without you having to say it out loud.
you nodded once.
“that’s the other part of it,” you said. “even if i wanted to… what would be the point?” you gave a small, humorless huff of a laugh. “besides i don’t even know if he…if he feels the same way.”
admitting that last part was probably the most embarrassing thing you’ve done all night. aside from the fact that yunah was taking this very positively, which somehow made it worse.
because now there was nothing to hide behind. no outrage, no teasing accusation, no horrified you like my brother? reaction that would have allowed you to retreat back into denial.
“i just think you’re giving yourself way too much responsibility in this whole situation.” yunah says, “you’re talking about this like you’re the only one who’s allowed to have feelings, or like it’s entirely your job to predict how everything will turn out before anything even happens.”
you frowned faintly.
“that’s not what i’m doing.”
“it kind of is,” yunah said gently. “you’re already worrying about what happens if he doesn’t feel the same way, what happens if things get awkward, what happens because you’re leaving in two months. you’ve already skipped about ten steps ahead.”
“it still feels messy,” you muttered after a moment. “and i really don’t want to make things weird in that house.”
yunah nodded slowly, acknowledging that point.
“that part i get,” she said. “living together complicates things. and yeah, the whole ‘leaving in two months’ situation doesn’t exactly make it easier.” she paused briefly before adding with a small shrug, “but liking someone doesn’t suddenly become a terrible thing just because the timing isn’t perfect.”
yunah continued, voice gentler now as she leaned her forearms on the table. “heeseung may not be the most upfront about his feelings, but he’s not the type to play games with people either. if there’s something there, it’ll show eventually.”
yunah’s words weren’t dismissive the way you had half expected them to be. if anything, they were almost… practical. like she was talking you down from a ledge you had built entirely inside your own head.
“you say that like it’s simple,” you muttered after a moment.
“it’s not simple,” yunah replied easily. “but it’s also not the disaster scenario you’ve been building up all this while.” she tilted her head slightly, studying your face again. “right now the only thing that’s actually happened is that you realized you like someone. everything else is just you trying to predict the future.”
you let out a small breath at that, leaning back slightly in your chair. the alcohol had warmed its way comfortably through your system by now, softening the tight coil of anxiety that had been sitting in your chest earlier in the evening. the conversation no longer felt like something you had to defend yourself through.
“…maybe,” you admitted.
“good,” she said, picking up her bottle again, with a small nod, satisfied with that much. “then let’s stop dissecting your love life like it’s a case study.”
the conversation loosened after that, drifting naturally into other things the way it always had between the two of you. somewhere along the way another round appeared at the table; then another.
by the time you both paused long enough to actually look at the table again, the clutter of bottles had quietly multiplied. yunah squinted at them with a suspicious expression, as if they had appeared there on their own.
hours had passed by, your head felt pleasantly light now, the room just slightly softer around the edges. you knew that walking in a straight line would require a little more concentration than usual. you leaned back in your chair again, rubbing briefly at your temple.
you don’t register much of what’s happening except the vague awareness of having to book a cab to get you back home. you’re pretty sure yunah is already on it though, with the way she has to quint at her phone screen, the light glowing faintly across her face while she tapped at the screen.
somewhere in the back of your mind it registered that yunah had called someone. you just didn’t realize who it was until something in your peripheral vision shifts. a familiar flash of copper hair catches the dim bar lights as someone steps up beside the table, tall enough to block part of the noise and movement around you. your slow, alcohol-dazed brain takes a second to connect the pieces, eyes lifting just enough to focus – oh.
heeseung is here.
part ten.
it had started manageable enough.
yunah had been laughing the entire walk to the car, leaning heavily on his shoulder while attempting to tell a story that kept dissolving halfway through into giggles. getting her into the passenger seat had taken effort, but at least she had been cooperative.
you were the real problem. you insisted you were perfectly capable of walking while your feet clearly disagreed. at one point you had stopped halfway down the sidewalk, squinting at the pavement like it had personally offended you.
“i’m walking fine,” you had insisted.
heeseung had stared at you for a moment before gently pulling you up and steering you toward the back seat anyway.
“yeah,” he’d said calmly. “you’re doing great. get in the car.”
by the time he managed to get you both through the front door of the house, heeseung felt like he had just finished supervising two extremely uncoordinated toddlers.
yunah collapsed onto the couch almost immediately. you had, for some reason, taken to sit cross legged on the floor right there, hugging your bag to your chest precariously.
heeseung shut the door behind him and turned around just in time to see the scene. for a moment he simply stood there, staring, before he heard the painful croak of yunah’s voice demanding she be given some water.
he let out a quiet breath and moved toward the kitchen without argument. years of experience had taught him that post-drinking yunah always came with the same demands – water, complaints about the world spinning, and the inevitable declaration that she was “never doing this again.”
by the time heeseung finished making sure yunah wasn’t going to roll off the couch in her sleep, the house had gone quiet again – too quiet, in fact. he turned his head toward the living room. the floor where you had been sitting earlier was empty.
heeseung exhaled slowly and pushed a hand back through his hair, already feeling the faint onset of a headache forming behind his temples. leaving you alone for two minutes should not have resulted in a disappearance. but that’s when he notices the front door left ajar. he’s pretty sure he shut it behind him.
when he pushed the door open the rest of the way, the cooler night air brushed immediately across his skin. the weather had finally broken after days of oppressive humidity, leaving the yard washed in a quiet stillness under the pale glow of the moon. the breeze moved gently through the grass, rustling faintly through the leaves of the peach tree near the far edge of the yard.
you’re standing beneath the peach tree. heeseung watches as you rise carefully onto your tiptoes, bare feet pressing into the cool grass while both arms stretch upward toward the lowest branch.
somehow, despite the alcohol still working its way through your system, you manage to keep your balance, body swaying only slightly as your fingertips brush the leaves. a singular round peach – the reason for all this effort – hangs just beyond your reach. when your fingers finally graze the branch, the fruit swings away from you with the movement, the leaves shivering softly as if in quiet protest.
heeseung doesn’t even realize he’s already moving toward you until he’s halfway across the yard. before you can make another determined but ultimately hopeless attempt, he steps in behind you and reaches past your shoulder with practiced ease. his hand steadies the branch, leaves rustling faintly under his grip as his fingers close around the peach. a small twist, a quiet snap of the stem – and the fruit comes free in his hand.
without meaning to, his other hand has already found purchase across your waist, steadying your swaying figure. and suddenly, he’s acutely aware of the warmth of your body through the thin fabric of your shirt, the quiet rise and fall of your breathing so close to him. he clears his throat softly and lets his hand fall away, stepping back half a pace like the realization has finally caught up with him.
he holds the peach out to you expecting at most a sleepy thank you or a half-serious attempt to eat it without washing it. instead, the moment the fruit settles into your palm, something in your expression changes. your lips part slightly, then press together again like you’re trying to keep them steady. the shift is so subtle at first that he almost misses it. then your eyes start to glisten.
heeseung freezes. your mouth wobbles, and then very quietly – you start tearing up. for a split second his brain completely stalls.
“…hey—” he says immediately, the word coming out far more alarmed than he intended. “wait—what? what happened?”
you’re staring down at the peach with such sorrow, heeseung thought someone had died. your grip tightens around it, shoulders drawing in slightly as you sniff once in a very determined effort to not actually cry. from heeseung’s perspective the emotional shift makes absolutely no sense. two seconds ago you were stretching under a tree to get this thing, and now you look like someone has just told you some terrible news.
“did i—” he starts, completely baffled. “did i do something?”
you shake your head quickly, but the movement only makes your eyes water more. for a second it looks like you’re trying to decide whether you even want to answer the question. then your voice comes out soft and slightly thick.
“…i was getting it for you.”
he blinks. “…what?”
you lift the peach a little helplessly like the explanation is obvious. “it was supposed to be for you,” you mumble, the words coming out unevenly now that the alcohol has completely loosened whatever careful filter you usually keep in place. “like… a present.”
for a moment he just stares at you. the situation rearranges itself inside his head all at once and a laugh rises instinctively in his chest before he can stop it. he doesn’t mean to mock, but the moment he sees your expression still wobbling, he swallows it down quickly, pressing his lips together instead.
“hey, hey—” he says gently, stepping a little closer again. “it’s okay.”
you look unconvinced. the breeze shifts through the branches overhead, brushing a loose strand of hair across your face. without thinking about it, heeseung lifts his hand and tucks it back behind your ear, the motion careful and slow so he doesn’t startle you. his fingers linger for half a second longer than necessary before dropping again.
“i didn’t realize it was a gift,” he says softly. your eyes drop back down to the peach in your hands.
“it was supposed to be a… you know,” you mumble, “…a confession peach.”
“…a what?” the words come out so quietly that he almost doesn’t register them at first.
“an ‘i like you’ peach,” you clarify, voice small and matter-of-fact in the way only drunk honesty can manage. “that’s why i was trying to get it.”
for a second the world seems to pause. heeseung’s brain short-circuits so completely that he doesn’t even realize he’s stopped breathing. the humor of the situation itself twists into something else entirely.
his chest tightens instead. because you’re drunk; which means you’ll probably wake up tomorrow not remembering half of this conversation. or maybe you will.
the thought lands somewhere uncomfortable in the middle of his chest. because the truth – the one he’s been deliberately avoiding for weeks now – is suddenly standing right in front of him in a way that’s impossible to pretend he hasn’t noticed. the careful distance between you. the tension that’s crept into every conversation. the strange, quiet awareness that follows him whenever you’re in the same room.
he had told himself it was easier not to touch that. the problem was that noticing something and doing something about it were two very different things.
because he knew you were leaving in two months. that number had been sitting quietly in the back of his mind for a while now, ticking down in a way he tried not to acknowledge too directly.
so he’d stayed quiet. but now you’re standing in front of him barefoot in the grass, clutching a peach like it was some sort of offering – and for the first time tonight, he’s not sure how much longer he can hold it in.
and you seem to realise it too. because suddenly, you’re feeling the soberness creep through your body in slow, uneven waves – like the night is finally catching up to you and refusing to stay blurred any longer. the way your feet feel on the grass suddenly registers too clearly. the cool air against your skin sharpens. even the weight of the peach in your hand feels real in a way it didn’t a minute ago.
you blink once. then again. and it’s like the world quietly clicks into place.
“…oh my god,” you say under your breath.
heeseung’s gaze shifts immediately. “did you just…did you…”
“i—” you start, then stop. then try again, slower this time, like speaking carefully might undo it. “i think i just said something.”
his expression tightens slightly. not annoyed. just… cautious. like he’s bracing for impact.
“you said a lot of things,” he says carefully. that makes you look up.
and you regret it immediately, because he’s standing too close and your throat immediately goes dry.
because now everything is too real. the distance between you. the quiet tension that has been building for weeks without you admitting it. the fact that you’re standing under a peach tree holding something you literally called a confession like it was a joke you could laugh off tomorrow.
already trying to step back. your voice comes out uneven, like your body is reacting before your brain can fully catch up. you attempt to pull yourself out of his steadying grip around your arm, but you only manage to stumble half a step before your balance gives out slightly.
he doesn’t let you fall though, his hand firms instinctively, just enough to keep you steady, not enough to trap you. but it’s enough to make you stop moving altogether.
“you’re drunk, let’s get you to bed.” that single sentence lands heavier than it should.
because now it’s not just about what you said. it’s about the fact that you meant it enough for it to slip out at all.
you grip the peach tighter, like it might somehow rewind time if you hold on hard enough. “no,” you say quickly, too quickly, already panicking again. “i mean—i was drunk. i’m still—i’m not fully—this doesn’t count, okay?”
his eyebrows lift slightly. “this doesn’t count?”
“yes,” you say firmly, as if firmness can erase memory. he just watches you. and it’s infuriating, because he looks entirely too calm for someone who has just been told that the confession he’s just gotten might need to be disregarded.
“then why do you keep running away?”
the question lands much more directly than you expected. you blink at him, caught off guard by how simply he says it. “i don’t—”
“you do,” he interrupts gently, not harshly enough to start an argument but firm enough that you know pretending won’t work. his eyes search your face like he’s been thinking about this longer than he’s letting on. “you were going to just leave right now. and this is not the first time, you’ve been avoiding me the whole week.”
your brain immediately tries to scramble for a defense, but nothing convincing comes up fast enough.
he exhales slowly, eyes searching yours for some unspoken explanation. there’s something thoughtful about the way he studies you now, like he’s working through the question himself while he says it.
“is it because it’s me?”
your brows draw together immediately and your chest twists painfully. my god, you think, he think, he really doesn’t know.
the realization hits you with an almost painful clarity. for a second you just stare at him, the defensive response you’d been preparing dissolving before it even forms. because the way he’s looking at you now isn’t confrontational, and it isn’t smug either. if anything, there’s something almost uncertain about it – like he’s been turning this question over in his head for days and still hasn’t quite found the answer.
when you don’t answer, his face falls. “wait nevermind, i don’t think you’re sober enough–”
“it’s not because it’s you,” you cut in firmly then. you can feel his eyes still on you, waiting.
the words land cleanly between you both, enough to make him stop physically, but not the voices in his head.
his gaze sharpens just a fraction. “okay,” he says carefully. “then tell me why it feels like you’re trying to disappear every time things get—” he pauses, searching for the word, jaw tightening slightly, “—real.”
the easy answer would be to laugh it off. there are a dozen small explanations you could reach for that would let both of you pretend the situation is less complicated than it actually is. but none of them would explain the past week.
“because it is you,” you admit after a moment. the words come out softer than you intended. across from you, heeseung shifts slightly.
“that’s the opposite of what you just said.”
“i know.”
“okay,” he says carefully. “you’re going to have to explain that one.”
you let out a quiet, humorless breath. for a moment you consider lying again. pretending the confession had been nothing more than drunken nonsense would be easier for both of you. it would give you a clean way out.
“it’s not that simple.”
his expression doesn’t change, but his attention sharpens slightly.
“what part isn’t simple?”
“this part,” you say quietly, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “that you’re my best friend’s brother. that i’m leaving in two months…” you trail off, searching for the right word. “its complicated.”
heeseung watches you carefully.
“and that’s why you’ve been avoiding me.”
your mouth dries up. this is not how you expected to have this talk. not here, not half tipsy, not clutching on to a peach in your fist like your life depended on it. and it’s a little frustrating to heesueng to, as patient as he is, his hands are resisting the urge to make you look at him, because god, you won’t even meet his eyes.
your gaze stays stubbornly fixed somewhere on the ground, fingers worrying the fuzzy skin of the fruit in your hand like it might offer you an escape route if you stare at it long enough.
“i didn’t think it was fair,” you admit after a moment.
“to who?”
“to you.” you let out another quiet breath, “if i said it—if i just stayed quiet, then it wouldn’t just disappear when i leave,” you explain slowly, forcing yourself to keep going. “and i didn’t want to be the person who drops something like that into your life and then walks away two months later.”
for the first time since the conversation started, heeseung looks genuinely taken aback. and you know because you finally have the courage to look up at him, despite instinct still clawing at you to look anywhere else.
“so yes,” you add quickly, your voice tightening slightly, “i panicked. maybe pretending it never happened seemed easier than dealing with what comes after.”
the quiet stretches just long enough that you start regretting opening your mouth at all. his expression is still that same stunned kind of thoughtful, like he’s trying to rearrange something in his head that suddenly doesn’t fit the way it used to.
“you really thought that was the problem,” he says eventually.
you frown faintly. “what do you mean?”
he shifts under the shade of the tree, the gentle breeze combing his hair before his own hand comes up to drag loosely through it before dropping again. when his gaze settles back on you, it’s steadier now, less surprised and more focused.
“the problem,” he says slowly, “isn’t that you said you liked me.”
your chest tightens immediately. “then what is it?”
“the problem,” he says quietly, “is that you decided what that meant for both of us before i even had a chance to answer.”
“i wasn’t deciding anything,” you say automatically.
“you were,” he replies, not harshly, just matter-of-fact. “you decided it would be unfair. you decided it would end badly because you’re leaving. and then you decided the best solution was to pretend it never happened.”
your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. because when he says it like that, it does sound exactly like what you did. heeseung watches your expression shift, the brief flicker of realization that passes over your face. his tone softens slightly when he speaks again.
“you assumed i’d rather not deal with it,” he continues. “or that i’d be better off if you just erased the whole thing.”
“i thought i was saving us both a problem.”
a quiet breath escapes him, something between a sigh and a soft laugh. “that’s a lot of decisions you made on my behalf.”
you wince a little at that. “i was just trying to be realistic.”
“about something you never even asked me about.”
he doesn’t touch you. he just stays there, close enough now that you’re suddenly very aware of the warmth coming off him, of the way he’s towering over you, the way the leaves overhead rustle, the way the sweet scent of the fruits carry through the breeze. he studies your face for a second before speaking, like he’s choosing the wording carefully.
“if you weren’t leaving,” he asks quietly, “would you still have run away?”
you hesitate, but his eyes stay on your face the entire time, patient and intent, like he’s willing to wait as long as it takes for you to answer honestly.
“…probably not,” you admit.
his gaze flickers slightly at that. “probably?”
you huff a quiet breath. “okay, no. i wouldn’t have.”
something subtle shifts in his expression when you say it, some small tension easing out of his shoulders like a piece of the conversation finally settled where it belonged.
then his voice drops a little softer, “so it’s not that you don’t like me. but you know,” he adds quietly, “there’s still one thing you haven’t considered.”
your brows pull together. “what?”
“that maybe i liked you back.”
“…what?”
a faint, crooked smile appears at the corner of his mouth, but there’s something more serious underneath it.
“i’m saying,” he clarifies, “you made a lot of decisions about how this would go. without letting me have any say in it.”
your brain feels like it’s lagging behind the conversation now. because he’s looking at you in a way that makes the rest of your thoughts fall apart. his hand comes up to circle around your waist and he pulls you in just slightly, gently enough that you don’t stumble, like he’s still testing whether you’ll suddenly remember how to run away.
your heartbeat is loud enough in your ears that you’re almost sure he can hear it. heeseung’s gaze flickers between your eyes and your mouth, like he’s memorizing the distance before closing it.
“just once…” he murmurs again, softer this time. his thumb shifts slightly where it rests against your chin, barely brushing the skin there as if the movement is unconscious. “just one more time. tell me what you really feel.”
up this close you can see the tiny crease between his brows, the way his eyes keep flicking briefly to your mouth before forcing themselves back to your gaze like he’s trying to behave.
“i like you,” you say. and it's that simple. but now that you’ve said it, the words don’t feel nearly as terrifying as they did the first time.
“i like you,” you repeat, a little more firmly this time, because if you’re doing this again you might as well do it properly, “i think about you more than i should. like… stupid things. the way you hover around the kitchen in that stupid tank top, the way i always look forward to our guitar lessons. the way you always look out for me. and half the time i thought i was just embarrassing myself. like i was the only one standing there with feelings while you were just being nice.”
“you really thought that,” he says after a moment, “you’re unbelievable,” he huffs out a laugh, and as if sensing your protest, he adds quickly, “because you spent a week avoiding me over something that apparently didn’t occur to you to check.”
“well, how was i supposed to know you liked me back?!” the question comes out sharper than you mean it to.
you’re halfway between defensive and embarrassed now, because in your head the logic had been perfectly sound. of course you assumed he didn’t like you. of course you assumed you were the only one making things weird.
“i thought you noticed.” and it's his turn to explain now.
“i thought it was clear.i wasn’t looking out for you because you’re yunah’s best friend for one.”he continues, already sounding mildly embarrassed about the direction this explanation is heading. “i mean—yeah, at first obviously that was the situation,” he says. “i can’t pinpoint the exact moment it happened, but before i knew it, i just knew that i wanted to take care of you”
“i just… started noticing things,” he continues quietly, eyes lingering on your face. “like the way you’d look around the room when you came downstairs, like you were checking who was there before you sat down. or the way you’d always pretend the heat didn’t bother you when we would sit outside.” his fingers tuck the strand of hair behind your ear, gently stroking cheek.
“and every time something small happened,” he adds, voice softening further, “my first thought was always you.”
his hand lingers near your temple now, thumb tracing lightly along your hairline in an absent, soothing motion like he’s forgotten he’s doing it.
“and that night,” he adds after a beat, voice lower again, “when i gave you the first peach…” you groan faintly under your breath, but there’s no real protest in it this time.
“you were trying so hard to pretend nothing happened,” he continues, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly at the memory. his thumb drifts slowly along the curve of your jaw as he speaks, retracing the path of that same moment.
“i realised how dumb i had been to do that, but i just…you were wearing my tshirt and you just looked at me,” he adds, eyes flickering between yours for a second before dropping briefly to your mouth.
you wondered how long this agony would last. how many more times would his gaze fall to your lips, how many times would he keep reigniting that same unbearable awareness between you.
every time his eyes dip, it feels like the air shifts. like something is about to happen and then… doesn’t. and it leaves your chest tightening a little more each time. beheeseung seems just as aware of it.
his thumb slows where it rests against your jaw, the soft motion turning absentminded, almost thoughtful now. for a second he looks like he’s debating something with himself. when he speaks again, his voice is low.
“i like you too.” and again, it is just that simple.
and then he leans in, slowly. painfully slowly.
the space between your faces shrinks inch by inch, his breath warm against your lips before they even touch. for a second you think he might stop there. just close enough to make the air between you feel electric. but then his thumb shifts lightly against your jaw, and he closes the last bit of distance.
it takes you not even a second to realise that heeseung is as calm as he is in everyday things as he is right now; like he sees no reason to rush something he actually wants to experience.
your brain goes strangely quiet, you notice how steady he is. there’s none of that clumsy urgency you half expected from how long the tension had been building. no sudden grab, no rushed movement. just warmth and patience as his mouth presses gently against yours again, slower this time.
like he’s savoring it; the revelation sends a quiet shiver down your spine. and somewhere in the middle of it, something inside you loosens.
because this is the same heeseung you’ve been watching for months – the one who lingers over coffee in the mornings instead of gulping it down, who takes his time tuning a guitar string until it’s just right, who listens to you like he’s not in a hurry to get to the end of what you’re saying.
of course he kisses like this.
his hand slides a little higher along the side of your neck, fingers resting there gently as his lips move against yours again. your own lips respond almost instinctively this time, no longer stiff with surprise but softening into the kiss, meeting his in a slow rhythm that feels almost natural.
your chest tightens when he tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss just enough that the contact shifts from soft to something fuller and you feel it immediately.
your arms curl around his middle when his thumb brushes lightly along the side of your neck. the quietest sound escapes you; it’s barely there, more breath than voice, like your body forgets for a second how to keep everything contained.
it’s soft enough that it almost disappears into the space between you, but heeseung still hears it.
his hand at your neck steadies for a moment, thumb slowing against your skin as his lips linger just a fraction away from yours. his eyes open slowly when he pulls back by the smallest amount, just enough to look at you properly.
just enough that you can still feel him everywhere – his hand at your neck, the heat of him pressed close, the faint brush of his lips still lingering like they haven’t quite decided to leave. and you don’t move away, if anything, you lean into him again, closing the space yourself.
your breath catches as he shifts closer, and suddenly there’s no space left for hesitation. just him, everywhere.
the angle changes as he leans in, guiding you back slightly until your shoulder meets the rough bark of the peach tree behind you, the contact grounding you in a way that makes everything feel even more real.
your fingers find his shirt instinctively, holding on without thinking, and he exhales against your lips like he’s felt that too. the sound is almost unsteady.
and it does something to you.
his lips press firmer against yours, parting them slowly as his tongue traces the seam of your mouth, coaxing you open with a gentle insistence. you yield without resistance, your tongue meeting his in a tentative slide that quickly deepens, tasting the faint salt of his skin mixed with the warmth of his breath. a low hum vibrates from his chest, rumbling through you where your bodies connect.
your hands slide up from his shirt, fingers digging into the firm muscles of his back, pulling him closer until his chest brushes yours. heeseung responds by shifting his weight, one knee nudging between your legs as he settles more fully above you, his hips aligning just enough to let you feel him vividly against you.
he breaks the kiss only to trail his mouth along your jaw, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin before sucking gently, leaving a warm sting that fades into tingling pleasure. his hand slips under your top, calloused palm sliding up your side, pushing the fabric higher, his fingers leaving a trail of shivers wherever he touches you.
chests heaving, breaths short, your foreheads touch. somewhere along this all, the peach in your hand had dropped to the ground, slightly bruised where it landed, the pale skin catching faint light from the moon through the branches above. somehow it looks absurdly normal compared to everything else that just happened.
he exhales slowly through his nose, almost like he’s deciding how honest he wants to be. then with utmost carefulness, he confesses.
“i don’t want tonight to be something you regret tomorrow.”
your throat tightens slightly at that, because it’s the first time all night that the intensity doesn’t feel like it’s pulling you under. of the fact that you’re still here, under his peach tree, with him holding you like this, and everything between you has already crossed a line that neither of you can unsee.
you exhale shakily, and instead of stepping back, your fingers loosen slightly in his shirt, not letting go, just… easing, like the answer has already begun in the way you’re still here.
the breeze shifts through the branches above, soft leaves brushing against each other in a slow, settling sound, and somewhere near your feet the fallen fruit sits half-hidden in the grass.
under the peach tree, heeseung has stood through more summers than he can count, but none of them have ever felt like this – like the place he thought he knew by heart is only now quietly changing meaning, because for the first time, you’re here with him, and everything familiar feels different just because of that.
genre: fluff, angst, slow burn; best friend's brother
warnings: slowburn (haha), the slowest summer fic you'll be reading lowkey, makeout (token of appreciation for getting thru allat)
note: yunah (illit) and heeseung are siblings for the sake of this fic, reader is a vet student.
a/n: okay so i don't really dig deep into the vet student aspect of it because idk bull about that subject, but it exists as a backdrop to build the story. ik i could have easily done some research, but the whole thing was turning out to be longer than expected, and it started getting boring to me as well to make a whole arc about the professions of the mcs when i just intended it to be a slow burn romance. so, apologies for that.
a/n pt. 2: i hope this turns out to be an easy read regardless, and because i didn’t mean for it to be a multiple part fic, i've tried my best to develop the slow burn as best as i could. ALSO TUMBLR FUCK YOU FOR THE 1000 BLOCK LIMIT !! guys if the paras seem too long and the cuts too abrupts, its bc i HAD to edit it that way coz of the limit :’D im so fucking sorrryyy :((((
summary
you come to spend an easy, unsuspecting summer at your best friend’s house – a temporary solution for a six month housing that your internship necessitates. but while you mean to focus on your work, you don’t account for the way her older brother starts to quietly exist in the same spaces as you.
somewhere between shared dinners, late nights, and the slow ripening of peaches in the backyard, the summer begins to stretch in ways you hadn’t planned for.
because some things ripen slowly in the heat. and some summers leave a mark long after they’re over.
teaser
“what are you hiding?” you ask, tilting your head, curiosity getting the better of you.
heeseung steps forward just a little, the corners of his mouth lifting in a playful grin. he brings his hands into view slowly, and there, cupped gently in his palms, are two peaches. they’re perfect – plump, round, and heavy with ripeness. they glow a deep, almost blushing coral-pink with warm golden yellow streaks. a faintly sweet, summery scent drifts toward you, making your stomach tighten with anticipation.
“are those…” your voice trails off in a breathy whisper. you don’t why you’re so excited over peaches, but the sight of them in his hands feels like a tiny, perfect gift meant just for you.
heeseung’s grin widens just slightly, enough to make his eyes crinkle at the corners. “yep. from the tree,” he says casually, though there’s a faint spark of pride in his voice. “i thought… they were ripe now. and i promised you the first ones, so…” he shrugs, but the little pause at the end makes it clear he’s been looking forward to this small moment, too.
your hand moves toward them almost instinctively, brushing lightly against his fingers as you take one. the fruit is warm and soft, the skin yielding to your touch. you lift it toward your lips, taking a careful bite.
the moment your teeth sink into the peach, juice bursting against your tongue, it’s like summer condensed into a single, perfect taste – sweet, faintly tart, with a floral undertone that lingers on the roof of your mouth. the flesh is soft and almost melting, dripping with its own golden nectar, and the flavor is sharp enough to make your eyes widen for an instant, yet so ripe it feels indulgent, luxurious, something meant only for moments like this.
you can’t help the little gasp that escapes you, the pure, unfiltered delight that floods your face. you lift the peach again instinctively, biting with a sort of reverent eagerness, juice sliding down your chin without a care.
heeseung freezes for a heartbeat, watching. the sight of your unabashed enjoyment pins him in place, a quiet chokehold of amusement and something softer he doesn’t have a name for yet. the way your lips purse around the peach, the tiny dribble escaping unnoticed – all of it pulls at him, and for a second, he forgets to breathe.
then, instinctively, his fingers reach out, brushing lightly along the curve of your jaw to catch the errant juice. his thumb brushes across your chin, tracing the path of the sweet syrup from the corner of your lips, your skin soft under his touch, his fingers circling ever so slightly around the curve of your jaw. the touch is so gentle; and when your eyes flick up to meet his, he can see the flicker of surprise reflected in your widened gaze.
the air between you thickens instantly, heavier than it was a second ago. that simple, fleeting touch – the brush of his fingers against your skin, is enough to make your pulse spike, and you can’t look away. his eyes are fixed on yours, dark and quiet, but there’s something in the way they linger, something unspoken that makes the heat creeping up your neck feel almost too much to bear.
you pull back slightly, eyes widening, cheeks heating as he steps back and lets out a quiet hum of amusement.
“you’re making a mess,” he says, teasingly, though his tone is soft and warm, and with abject horror you watch as he lifts his thumb that had just traced across your skin to his own lips and then, before you can react, he licks it clean, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the sweetness himself.
your stomach drops, a mix of shock and something warmer coiling tight in your chest, as the entire room shrinks down to the small circle of heat and tension where you’re standing.
you catch your breath, cheeks flushing as you realize the quiet intimacy of it – the way he’s just allowed himself that closeness, the subtle brush of skin and the shared taste of the peach. the world outside seems to fade, blurring into background noise. all that matters is him, the peaches, and the tiny, reckless spark that has suddenly ignited between you, lingering in the charged silence.
heeseung clears his throat softly, though he doesn’t look away, giving you just enough space to process, just enough to feel the fluttering pulse in your chest, something unspoken, that hangs in the air long after the peach juice is gone.
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