──♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡❝ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ʜᴏᴛ?!❞⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⊹──
♬⋆.˚ When Did You Get Hot? by Sabrina Carpenter
⤷ synopsys: after many years apart you reunite with your childhood best friend. but he seem to not really recognize the little girl who used to pull his hair and steal his toys.
⤷ genre: fluff, a little bit suggestive? if you squint?, swearing but not much
⤷ notes: f!reader, i got carried away with ricky's :S i skipped yujin, sorry :// didn't have any idea for him on this one. goood i've been editing this forever.
⤷ disclaimer: everything written here is purely fictional and based on imagination. I do not know the real personalities, thoughts, or feelings of the individuals mentioned. this content is meant for entertainment and creative purposes only.
You were bored. Terribly bored. It was one of those days when the weather was nice, but none of your friends were available, and you had zero will to get up from the couch and do something. But you hated the endless scrolling on social media, so with the last bit of strength you had, you managed to roll onto your back.
Let’s see. Was there anything you needed in particular for tonight’s dinner? No, your groceries should last until the end of the week. Maybe there was a book somewhere that had gone unnoticed and unread? You couldn’t think of one that would entertain your curiosity. Maybe something self-indulgent? A little treat just because? Well, that was a wide category to choose from. Self-care? No, you had already spent enough on those TikTok products. Clothes? Nothing had caught your eye when you last checked the new stock on your favourite website. Or maybe… a new gadget? That sounded fun.
That’s when it clicked. You could actually use one or two new vinyl records for your gramophone. Yes, that was a nice idea! You got up, suddenly feeling a rush of motivation, and after a quick shower and a change of clothes, you were on your way to the nearest music shop.
Music had always been a great passion of yours. You never saw yourself working in the industry in any way — you’d much rather keep it as a distraction from the outside world, the constant noise, and the routine. You loved exploring genres and finding new songs, and over the years you had built a refined taste in music. It was unimaginable for you not to start your day with a song. Impossible to leave the house without your headphones. And the evening was never complete until you put on a nice jazz record on your gramophone. It was a ritual. You enjoyed listening to music alone, accompanied only by a glass of wine.
The gramophone was your most prized possession. You made sure to clean it regularly and keep it unscratched. Lord knows what would you do if something bad ever happened to it. You loved it with all your heart, and buying vinyl records was as pleasurable to you as buying clothes was to others.
You never really had favorites. The mood dictated the playlist. And today was one of those days when you could already hear the wandering melodies and improvised notes that would keep you company on the couch tonight. But listening to jazz always reminded you of the person you’d first introduced to it.
For some reason, it always came down to Jiwoong. It was as if your mind was intoxicated by him. You often found pieces of him in your daily life, your thoughts eager to remind you of him constantly. Sometimes it was nostalgic, sometimes sweet, but at other times simply annoying. It felt like you could never get him out of your head. And it wasn’t that you were obsessed — it was just strange to still think about him after all those years.
Kim Jiwoong was your first real friend. You had met him back in kindergarten. At first, it was the usual stuff: Jiwoong ran around with the other boys while you sat in the corner, playing with dolls. But one time, when you were left without a partner for a sports competition, Jiwoong was the one who took you under his wing. From then on, you were inseparable. Instead of playing with the girls your age, you chased Jiwoong around, searched for insects in the kindergarten’s yard, and played pirates or gangsters. Keeping up with a group of boys was sometimes tiring, but Jiwoong always looked out for you, making sure you got a band-aid for your scraped knees or pulled the sticks out of your hair.
Then came elementary school, and you were pretty sure that was when you’d both make new friends and drift apart. You liked Jiwoong very much, but you really could use some female friends. It came as a shock when, despite a whole pack of boys lining up to be Jiwoong’s desk partner, he came up to you and asked if you wanted to sit together. No one else had asked you before him, so you agreed, feeling a wave of pride as you glanced at all his friends who would die to be in your place. You didn’t know why he chose you, but you were thrilled to know you were still his number one. After all, you always felt safest with him beside you.
You grew to be best friends. Jiwoong happily shared everything he had, and even if he had only one candy bar on him, he always offered you a bite.
You hesitated back then, a shiver running down your spine at the thought of mixing saliva with him.
It seemed that Jiwoong had made it his mission to become your full-time bodyguard. He stood up for you when one of his friends tried to brush you off, or he carried you bridal-style when you got hurt during dodgeball. Your mothers were also close friends so sometimes, when you finished classes late, Jiwoong’s mother insisted you stay the night since they lived much closer than you. You appreciated her hospitality, because it meant more time with Jiwoong-ie.
It all seemed innocent back then. You’d sit in his room, showing him the songs you had discovered that week. He especially liked jazz. You’d catch him humming familiar melodies during lessons or listening to songs you’d shown him on his earphones. You knew about his passion for music. When you both started dreaming about the future, he always said he wanted to dance and sing on stage. That’s why you were slightly disappointed when you saw him acting in some drama on TV one day. You supposed he had given up and become an actor. You only hoped that made him happy.
But you know that funny feeling you get in your early teens, when you suddenly become conscious of yourself, realizing you exist and overthinking your every move? Puberty hit like a crashing wave, and you started to feel anxious about your relationship with Jiwoong.
You had been each other’s ride-or-die until then. But by middle school, you’d made some female friends, and soon came the boy talk. They gossiped about who was cute, who was hot, who had abs, who was good at math. Everything seemed to come down to crushes. You were stunned to hear such things about the boys in your class — including Jiwoong. A strange flutter rose in your chest, and you didn’t understand it back then. You started questioning what was going on between you two, reminding yourself that you shouldn’t feel that way. Jiwoong was caring and sweet, but in a brotherly way. He had given countless signs that your bond was purely sibling-like. And that’s when things started to unravel.
You developed different dreams, made different plans for life. On the horizon, a plan began to take shape for you to move to another city so you could attend one of the top high schools in the country. Jiwoong was surprised when, for the first time, you declined his invitation to visit. Hanging out at his place no longer seemed innocent. Sleepovers were off-limits, out of the question. Slowly, you began to slip away from Jiwoong’s protective grasp — not out of anger, but out of fear. Fear of your own feelings, fear of what you didn’t yet understand. considering All signs pointed to this being your last chapter together, and separation was inevitable. Wanting to minimize the damage, you decided to pull away early. Bit by bit, you drifted entirely from his life.
By the end of the year, just before graduation, you found yourself watching him from afar as he asked out a girl from your class. You were a little heartbroken. After all, you’d be lying if you said you had never liked him. He was your first love.
And apparently your last, considering how you had just gone over your entire history with him again. Leaving him was hard. You cried for months after moving away for high school not because you missed home but because you missed him. Your contact had already worsened during the last year of middle school, and things had ended between you rather dryly. You would have done it differently now — told him about your feelings and about the relationship you had — but he was in the past. Everything was. You had made peace with it, though a bitter feeling still crept in your stomach every now and then when you thought of him.
Stepping into the small local music shop, you looked around, hoping to spot the "Jazz/Soul" section. Once you did, your footsteps carried you down the aisle. You recognized some familiar faces, people who came here as often as you did. Reaching your section, you began scanning the records, hoping something would catch your eye and… it did.
Your eyes stopped on the man standing a few feet away, his side profile perfectly illuminated by the bright, cold shop lights. You couldn’t help but stare. He was… magnificent. Tall, with broad shoulders, jet-black hair falling slightly onto his forehead, thick eyebrows, and brown, thoughtful eyes scanning the cover of a record. The sleeves of his baby-blue dress shirt were rolled up to expose toned forearms. You swore you had never seen a man as fine as the one before you.
But then he noticed your lingering gaze and turned his head. The moment your eyes met, you froze. A shiver ran down your spine. The look in his eyes was somehow… familiar.
You both knew something was in the air.
His eyes widened for a split second. He took a few steps in your direction.
It hit like an earthquake.
Your knees felt weak — just like they did back then during dodgeball.
His piercing gaze locked onto yours, and with a shaky voice, you managed to whisper:
A smile crossed his face. My gosh, he looked like a real prince — or an actor, or a model, or all of them combined. He looked unreal.
Jiwoong could say the same about you.
You wouldn’t have guessed it, but his heart exploded just now at the sweet tone of your voice when saying his name. He recognized you immediately. You were even more beautiful than on the last day of middle school. Your hair cascaded over your shoulders like fine silk, your dress hugged your curves perfectly, and your face was adorned with the prettiest shade of pink imaginable. Not to mention your eyes — two glass-like orbs framed by long, curled lashes, wide with surprise. Jiwoong had never seen you like this, and he honestly thought it was the cutest thing ever. You looked adorable, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you.
That only deepened your blush as you stood there awkwardly in front of him.
“I-I’m sorry, maybe I mistook you for someone e—”
“Y/N, it’s me. It’s okay, I’m just… as surprised as you are.” He cut you off with a genuine smile.
Jiwoong looked like heaven on earth with that soft smile and thoughtful eyes. You couldn’t believe his energy. How could a man as sexy as him radiate such delicate warmth? He wasn’t a predator in disguise. He was simply your Jiwoong from middle school — still caring and kind as ever.
“What are you doing here?” you asked once you regained control over your mouth.
“Buying records.” he said, showing you the vinyl in his hand.
“No, Jiwoong, I meant… in town.” you laughed at his puzzled face.
“Ah, I had some time off during the promotion of the latest album, so I decided to look for something new to listen to.” he explained, scratching the back of his head.
“Album?” you asked, clearly confused.
“Yeah… I suppose you don’t know, but I managed to become an idol.” He smiled sheepishly.
At that, your expression changed, and a grin spread across your face.
“Oh my god, that’s wonderful! I’m really happy for you, Jiwoong-ie!” you exclaimed, instinctively taking his hands into yours.
You both blushed even harder as the realization sank in.
Slightly embarrassed, you let go and took a step back.
“I’m sorry, I just… I wanted that for you, you know.” you said, nervously playing with your fingers.
“Thank you. And… that was kind of nice.” His gaze fell to the floor. He was in shambles.
“You know I have always rooted for you.” you added softly.
“Yeah, that too… but I meant the hand-holding.” His charming smile never left his lips.
At that, you fell silent. It wasn’t only the fact that Jiwoong looked like a model straight out of a magazine. Your feelings came crashing down on you like an avalanche, and you were hopeless in the face of the truth: you still liked him. Romantically.
You thought you might faint when you heard him say:
“You know, I’d be glad if we did that more. It really made me happy. What do you say we start now?” As he extended his hand toward you.
The droplets of rain chased each other across the windowpane. You swore that every time one of your “players” managed to get ahead, it was swallowed by another and turned into a water giant sliding down the glass.
A perfect day for a concert.
Unironically, you loved gloomy days like this. They calmed you and eased your nerves. Your hands sweaty, you reached into your violin case for a handkerchief.
Did you check your strings? They seemed fine just a moment ago. Did you put on enough rosin? Surely not too much… right? You had already gone over your scales, arpeggios and all the tricky parts, but… maybe one last time?
“We start in ten minutes,” a voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see a fellow cellist. He gave you a sympathetic smile before disappearing behind the wooden doors.
You swallowed hard. That was the only thing you managed to do before grabbing your violin again. Placing your chin on the rest, you checked your sound for any impurities. Whose idea was it to make you play first violin tonight? You swore you had been doing the bare minimum during the last few rehearsals, and yet, when the original concertmaster sprained their wrist, you were the first name on the backup list.
If it hadn’t been for that ridiculous idea of his to fix his motorcycle just days before the Philharmonic’s New Year’s Concert — one of the biggest music events of the year — you’d be in the coffee room right now, blissfully unconcerned about having to face a hall full of self-proclaimed aristocrats. You really disliked the kind of people who visited the philharmonic. To you, most of them were pompous old fools coming only to feel “cultured.” But you loved the music. You loved the orchestra. So what if you had to play for the most snobbish people in the country? After all, they were listening to you, not the other way around.
You had never been an attention-seeker. You simply loved to play. Making a living out of it, though, meant presenting yourself on stage. At first, solo concerts had made you gag backstage, but after finding your place in the national orchestra, you grew more relaxed. You started to actually enjoy performing alongside your friends. That’s when you realized maybe you were never meant to be a soloist. And you were fine with that. Until today.
The clock on the wall ticked mercilessly, its hands moving faster and faster — almost as if in allegro.
Were you sure about that last passage on page eleven? Speaking of which, did you have all your notes with you?
Your fingers gently ran over the strings as you quietly mouthed the notes, mimicking the performance. You liked practicing this way — something you had picked up from your childhood friend.
He had been a promising fiddler. Everyone saw it in him — the way he swung his bow so effortlessly, coaxing out the sweetest, purest sound imaginable. He was brilliant, and he was still just a kid. You met him through your violin teacher. She often insisted you two would make a great duet, so she paired you up for practice and performances. She claimed you were on the same level, but you never believed her. How could anyone be Hao’s match?
When he played, everything else disappeared. You were mesmerized by the way his fingers glided across the strings, how delicately he held the bow, as though it might break under his touch. And the sound — the sweetest music. Hao always had the passion, the emotions, the soul. But it seemed reserved only for when he played. Outside of practice, Hao was… shy. Easily intimidated, especially around you. Sometimes you even thought he disliked you. No matter what you said or did, he never came out of his shell. It bothered you more because he never showed stage fright. With you, conversations always circled back to music: what needed practice, which passage was tricky, when you could meet next to go over everything. With Hao, there was no relationship beyond rehearsals.
To your innocent, childish heart, it was disappointing. Because you hadn’t just fallen in love with music — you’d fallen in love with him.
So when a “natural disaster” like transferring to different schools struck, you were devastated. You remember crying yourself to sleep for months. You were dramatic, sure, but believe it or not, Hao was the closest person to you back then. And you didn’t have many friends — your schedule was consumed by practice and rehearsals. With him it was nice, your greatest love — the violin — had bound you together.
Eventually, the workload pushed you past the heartbreak. You got over it. But sometimes you still caught yourself thinking about your childhood friend, wondering what he was up to these days.
You’d only heard of him vaguely, through a friend of a friend. Something about musicology? Maybe he had become a teacher. But you were pretty sure you had seen his face online just last week…
The memories replayed in your mind until a soft knock interrupted them. Another familiar face peeked through the door.
“Y/N, it’s time. Everyone’s ready.” It was your colleague, the one who usually played second violin with you. He smiled faintly and gestured for you to follow.
And just like that, the last minutes had passed, wasted on thinking about your crush. Off to a great start.
Grabbing your violin in one hand and your notes in the other, you stepped out into the grand hallway, your fellow musicians lining the walls. The conductor hushed everyone, then gestured to line up.
“And don’t you dare mess up the tempo at bar eighty-six,” he warned, brows furrowed behind his round glasses.
Bar eighty-six? That was the least of your problems — you had eighty-five opportunities before that to screw up completely. Despite wiping your hands constantly, sweat filled your palms like water bottles. Your dress clung damply at the sides. Your mouth was dry. Stress hit you like a hammer, without mercy.
Then, one by one, the musicians ahead of you started to disappear behind the black curtain. Going up after them, your grip on the violin tightened as you were hit with blinding stage lights and rows upon rows of chairs and music stands.
Among the endless applause from the public, everyone began taking their seats.
Coming forward hesitantly, you sat down as first violin. Thankful that your knees hadn’t given out yet, you placed your chin on the instrument.
The conductor raised his baton. You tuned, let out a few clean pitches, checked the key once more.
Everything was in place. No excuses.
Your breath hitched when you caught the conductor’s eyes — the “brace yourself” look. Then he threw his baton in the air and on command, you began.
Instantly, you locked in. Bar after bar, you followed the notes perfectly. Piano, pianissimo, crescendo, fortissimo. Arpeggio. Legato, legato, legato. You were gone, completely immersed. Each musical term leapt off the page like flashcards, your conductor’s voice echoing in your mind.
G-G-D-G, G-G-D-G. The main theme played on, famous, recognizable, leaving no room for error.
But everything else had already faded away. It was only you, your beloved violin, and the melody. Your solo was flawless. With a graceful final stroke of your bow, you exhaled under your breath. Finally, the piano part. Just one more killer solo left before the finale. Nothing to worry about.
As you let yourself wind down, your eyes scanned the audience. Familiar faces, every one of them. Except one.
In the second row, a young man stared directly at you. His gaze pierced your soul. You swore you’d seen him before, but the harsh lights made it hard to tell. Absorbed in analyzing his features, you almost missed the end of the piano part. The buildup to your next solo was here. And just before you raised your bow, you thought you saw him mouth the word: “Play.” in panic.
Without glancing at your notes, you trusted your instincts.
If you could see yourself from the outside, you’d be amazed. The passage that had once been your greatest fear now flowed like water. Your hands moved on their own, guided by pure muscle memory.
Meanwhile, the man in the second row sat stiff, his mouth slightly parted. He was entranced — not only by your elegance but by the sheer skill you now displayed.
The rest of the composition blurred. You played the finale with ease, every note etched in your memory. A spotless performance.
As the conductor’s baton fell, the hall erupted in applause. Rising to their feet, the audience gave a full standing ovation. The conductor gestured toward you with a look of pride.
You stepped forward and bowed. And then you saw him. The man from earlier.
Your breath got caught in your throat.
There, in the second row, applauding with pride and vigor, was none other than Hao. But his look — you had never seen him look at you like that before.
Heat rushed to your cheeks. You turned away, taking your seat again, trying to focus on the conductor’s speech. But your gaze kept drifting back to him.
He looked nothing like the boy you remembered. He was more handsome than you could have ever imagined. He had always been on the “cute” side — chubby cheeks, staring at the sheet music with wide eyes, struggling to dissect the piece note by note. But now… his eyes were molten honey, filled with intensity. His dark cherry-colored hair stood out in a sea of gray heads. His face was lean, with a sharply defined jawline. He looked like the devil himself.
And you hated how much it turned you on.
When the concert ended, you slipped backstage. Shaking hands, accepting congratulations, exchanging polite words. But inside, you were reeling. What the hell? This kind of thing only happen in books or overly romantic films. And what exactly are you supposed to do now? Should you go back and look for him? What if he didn’t even remember you? What if you were delusional?
“Y/N, someone for you.” your orchestra mate peeked out from behind the slightly open door, a wide smile on his face.
You weren't laughing. You already knew who it was.
“Let him in.” you muttered nevously.
The door opened, and in stumbled a cherry-haired man.
You stared at each other. Apparently, two hours of staring hadn’t been enough.
“Congratulations on your performance today.” Hao said at last, eyes never leaving yours. “You were the best.”
“What are you even doing here?” you asked, grasping for answers, not praise.
“You’ve only just become a star, and you’re already so full of yourself?” He tilted his head, one brow arched, a smug grin tugging at his lips.
“What? No, I… thank you.” You stammered, flustered. Since when had Hao become this sassy? “But I believe I asked you a question.”
“I wanted to reconnect with my love for the philharmonic… and meet a great friend of mine,” he said, smile widening.
“Hao, with all due respect… it’s been so long. Why would you even—”
“Looking for you now?” he cut you off.
You blinked, falling completely silent after his last words. Was he playing with you?
“I actually came for my friend you’re covering for today.” he explained, much more honesty present in his voice now.
That caught you off guard.
“He invited me, but… well, you know about his wrist.” Hao shrugged. “Since I had the evening free, I decided to come anyway. Even more so when I saw your name in the program. I wanted to meet a friend—well, here I am.”
That’s when you noticed the bouquet in his hands. Pink peonies.
“Oh… were those for him?” you asked. Hao glanced at them.
“Well, yeah. I ordered them in advance, so…” He hesitated, then simply handed them to you. “Here. You deserve them. And honestly, you look a hundred times better with them than he ever would.” His cocky smile softened into something genuine.
“Hao, I don’t even know—”
“Would you look at that.” he laughed. “First time seeing each other after all these years, and you’ve already made me bring you flowers.”
“Thank you. They’re beautiful.” you murmured, melting inside as you looked up at him.
The feelings crashed over you like a wave. You wanted to reach for him, hold him, have him close.
Silence stretched between you. No words, no gestures — just a gaze, heavy with nostalgia and hope.
But you waited. You wanted him to lead, to set the course, to answer whether you had been wrong all those years ago.
Hao stepped closer. Inch by inch, until only a breath separated you. His hand traced down your arm, then found your fingers. His scent enveloped you. Or maybe it was simply all of him. Everything else blurred.
“Listen,” he began softly, searching your eyes, “I know we lost contact for a long time. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable when I say this…”
Your heart pounded with every word.
“I made a reservation for tonight. A table for two. Would you like to join me? Eating alone would be miserable, especially at a place like this.”
He hesitated, then added with a smile:
“Think of it as a date. A celebration of your excellent performance tonight.”
And just like that, your palms grew sweaty all over again.
You were currently on your way to the dance studio. Checking your phone nervously, you sped up when you saw you had only 20 minutes left to get there — and you really didn’t want to be the last to enter the room. Lately, you’d been having too much free time, and while all your friends used theirs to meet new people and date around, you preferred to invest in your skills.
After many years away from dancing, your mind started to wander back to those happy days when you and your best friend Hanbin attended dance classes together as children. You remembered vividly how you tried dancing in pairs, and somehow your little feet always landed on his. You chuckled to yourself at the funny memory.
Until high school, you spent most of your free time in the practice room. You had your achievements: with your dance group, you managed to win a couple of trophies over the years. But then adult life began—and with it came adult decisions. You had given up dancing for some time to go to college and get your degree, and eventually started working, which just pushed returning to your hobby even further away. You kept in touch with your first dance partner for a while, but then your ways parted, and you only heard about him from your fellow colleagues from dancing community or, after he became an idol, from the media. It was easy to spot him since he had contracts with many companies and was basically everywhere. You hadn’t really tried to follow his career closely. Sometimes you’d see him on a can of your favorite soda, sometimes on a huge display in a cosmetics store, and sometimes he would pop up on your TikTok FYP. You could see that he had changed a lot, but lately, because of the overwhelming workload, you hadn’t kept up with what he was up to or what he was doing now. You thought about meeting up with him, but time passed; you felt like you had grown too far apart, and it would feel like getting to know him all over again — which just made you feel kinda awkward. Still, you rooted for him. After hearing he had decided to continue dancing and seeing his performance online, you were quite mesmerized by how much he had changed. He was no longer the chubby boy you used to scold every time he made a wrong move. He was charming now. VERY charming. And his dance skills were amazing. That’s what made you think maybe you should get back into it too — it had been great fun for you back then.
And that’s how you ended up nearly running to a dance workshop held… about three blocks away, if your GPS was correct. Storming inside, in a rush, you asked the receptionist where the event was taking place, and with minimal instructions, you took a left turn, down a long hallway, all the way to the last room.
After opening the door, you were greeted with loud, energetic music — a song very familiar to you. You looked around. There was still some time, but the room was already filled with people dressed in loose clothes, chatting and warming up. You proceeded to sit against the nearest wall to catch your breath after all this speed walking.
You recognized a lot of faces, some newer ones, but then your eyes lingered on one particular profile. Without seeing him on the internet nowadays, you would have never guessed it was him. His voice rang in your ears as he explained the schedule of today’s workshop to someone. He somehow looked even more unreal there than he did in all those ads. He was stunning. Literally the hottest man you have ever seen. Did you really underestimated his visual capabilities back then? As you were daydreaming about your friend you missed the a split second when his gaze fell on you. Realizing that now a pair of brown orbs is looking directly at you, immediately you stopped your train of thoughts. Your heart started beating faster. He stood for about half a minute, clearly analyzing something in his head. Only then did it hit you that maybe you shouldn’t just stare at him like that. Sheepishly, you turned your head away, trying to remember the last time you had been in as awkward a situation as this one. Your cheeks were BURNING. Your mind raced, contemplating whether you should go up to him and say hi or rather pretend you didn’t know him — but then you felt someone towering over you, blocking your view. You looked up to see none other than Sung Hanbin.
“Hi, sorry to bother you, but I think I know you from somewhere. Is it possible we’ve met before?” he asked, furrowing his brows, still running through every possible encounter in the past.
Ah, typical Hanbin. He had a way of asking any awkward question so that neither side ever felt uncomfortable.
Standing up to face him, you thought your heart would burst out of your chest any minute now.
“Hi Binnie, it’s me, Y/N.” you replied softly, a small smile tugging at your lips.
There was a moment of silence after that. His eyes grew bigger as he just stared at you.
“Really, it’s okay if you don’t remem—”
“Y/N!? Oh my, I would have never guessed!” his whisker smile showing on his face as he throwed his arms around you.
You were surprised, to say the least. Gently, you patted his back feeling a faint blush creeping up your features.
“We danced together when we were kids, remember?” you asked, now with a little more confidence in your voice, seeing that he clearly knew who you were and wasn’t just pulling an act right there and then.
“Of course! Wow, that was like a lifetime ago.” he chuckled. “We were in kindergarten, right?”
You nodded, a bigger grin creeping across your face now.
Another moment of silence.
Hanbin was stunned, and he really hoped you didn’t notice how, for a split second, his eyes lingered on your features for a little too long. There was no little girl in pigtails in sight now. You were a fully grown woman, your face slim and mature, your body beautiful like someone sculpted it with utmost care, and your voice warmer — no longer a squeaking one. A blush tinted his cheeks. Upon seeing his expression, you turned even more red. Hanbin’s gaze met yours. It was funny, really, how on the outside you looked nothing like the girl he used to chaotically spin across the dance floor, but your eyes still had that child-like sparkle in them.
"I haven’t seen you in a long time… you’ve changed a lot." Hanbin’s voice carried a hint of nostalgia, yet it was so gentle and inviting at the same time.
“I hope for the better.” you replied, clearly flustered, though a faint smile never left your face.
“Oh, absolutely,” he assured you. “You look beautiful.”
You didn’t know how to respond to the compliment. In that moment, Hanbin completely swept you off your feet. Hearing it from his lips made your knees go weak, and you felt yourself slowly melting from the inside. He knew how to choose his words.
Hanbin, on the other hand, had no hidden agenda—no trap, no desire to outsmart you. He was simply stating a fact. He liked you back then, but now, seeing you as an adult standing in front of him, he saw someone he wanted to talk to at length, someone with whom he could build something real. He could feel his heart trying to pound its way out of his chest, and his breath quickened. This was no longer childish infatuation. Hanbin was completely infatuated with you.
“I think it’s time to start the workshop,” you said, turning your gaze to the room, now full of dancers of different ages, genders, and physiques. It was your excuse to escape the consuming gaze of your friend, to make his devoted attention drift, even for a moment, onto something else—because soon, you would truly find yourself on the floor.
"Oh? Ah, yes, you're right." he stated, shaking off the flood of thoughts.
“C’mon, I’ve seen you dance." you gently nudged his arm playfully, doing what you can to lighten the atmosphere. "I don’t think you’re well-fitted for this class, since it’s an intermediate level and you’re like… what? A master now?” you laughed, your hand coming up to tighten your ponytail.
“Exactly. That’s why I’m leading it today,” he replied, a wide smile decorating his features.
You stood dumbfounded, your eyes widening upon hearing this. Instantly, you thought to yourself, perhaps you really should’ve taken a pottery course instead of this. Now you had just gotten yourself into trying to keep up with him through the whole class.
A shiver ran down your spine upon hearing him say with a cocky smile:
“Well, y/n, let’s see if your looks were the only thing you improved.”
It was one of those days where simply nothing went your way. From spilling hot coffee all over your dress shirt just minutes before leaving for work, to completely screwing up the presentation in front of your boss. Gripping the wheel of your car tighter, you let out a huff, memories from today’s events flashing through your mind once again. You were frustrated and the best way to release tension was to get tired at the gym. So there you were, driving to the nearest sports centre, your anger boiling inside you like hot water.
You were the achiever type. Hated the smallest failures along your way. It had been like that for as long as you could remember, but probably escalated in middle school. Back then, you were still too young to go to places like this alone, so you had other ways to get a grip when anger took over. It was your desk partner—Matthew. The guy was an absolute stress ball. Of course, you never took it out on him; he was your best friend back then, so you naturally had no desire to hurt him. But he always knew exactly what to say, and how to say it, to calm you down. You were inseparable back then. When your world was crumbling after failing a test, he was the one to get you out of misery. He always had that positive gleam in his eyes and a soft smile decorating his features. He reassured you that no mistake was big enough to stop you from achieving what you wanted. And honestly, you stuck to his words throughout school. But after graduation, he went away to become a trainee, while you stayed in Canada and went to college. Over time, your contact worsened—your studies overwhelmed you and he had endless dance and singing practice. Eventually, you two drifted apart without a word. You could sometimes spot him in an ad or on TikTok, but it felt too awkward to reach out after all this time.
Stepping inside the gym, you headed straight to the changing rooms, and after throwing on something more comfortable, you decided to start with a little cardio on the treadmill. You set the elevation and pace, put on a random playlist, and started your warm-up. Looking around, there weren’t many people. With each step, your mind felt lighter, every negative memory from today slowly disappearing, leaving only blank space behind. Mindlessly, you ran in a calm tempo, focusing on the way your feet stomped on the black mat of the treadmill.
You were curious about Matthew. He had been your closest person back in childhood, so it was only natural to want to know what was going on with him these days. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t had a slight crush on him back then. He was always by your side, through both good and bad times. You remembered him inviting you over, and you would spend days playing on his console. Matthew had been your missing puzzle piece. If you were fire, he was water. But all of that was long gone, and you didn’t hold it against anyone. You were kids back then, and foolish things like that were completely normal.
Your eyes started wandering around the room. People of all shapes and sizes were either exercising on mats or with weights; some were using the machines. Your gaze lingered on a particularly short male a few meters away, sitting on the pec deck machine. You raised an eyebrow. Why did he look familiar? You focused on his side profile. Wait… could it be?
The realization hit you so hard you completely forgot you were still running on the treadmill. A strike of shock went through your body; you lost control of your legs, messed up your rhythm, and stumbled over your own feet, falling hard onto the black matted floor. Having fallen with such speed, your vision went blank for a moment. Only after a second did you feel a sharp pain in your right ankle. You started to hear someone calling your name. The voice was muffled at first but grew clearer as you slowly regained consciousness.
With a groan, you managed to open one eyelid. Peeking, you noticed a man hovering over you. As everything slowly came together, you could feel his strong grip around your waist and under your head, which was hurting like hell. Focusing your gaze, you were met with none other than your childhood friend.
“Y/N?! C’mon, Y/N, wake up!” You swore you’d never seen him this panicked.
“Ugh… I’m up, I’m up…” you huffed as you regained your composure and senses.
Matthew gave you a relieved look. You could feel his muscles slowly relax under your body. It was then you realized he was holding you as you lay sprawled on the floor. A blush crept over your face.
“To be honest… never in my life would I assume we’d meet again under these circumstances.” you groaned, looking up at him.
Your blush deepened, your mouth parted in awe. For a moment, you doubted if he was really Matthew. Well… he wasn’t that kid from middle school. He was the grown-up version. Never in your life would you have imagined him looking like this. His body was all muscle, no fat. You could feel his strength just from being held by him. Despite his muscular physique, he had soft features. He looked manly, yet gentle. You noticed he still had that boyish look on his face. The sparkle never left his dark eyes. He was extra charming. There was no trace of the chubby kid from middle school. Instead, you were met with a handsome young man, his smooth black hair neatly parted in the middle, some strands sticking to his forehead from sweat—but in the most elegant way.
Your breath hitched as you felt him tighten his grip. Matthew started scanning your body for injuries, even though his mind was racing like an F1 car. He really tried to convince himself that he was doing it out of pure worry and care, not just to get a better look at you.
Unknown to you, Matthew was internally kicking his feet in adoration.
He hadn’t expected his day to end up like this, but honestly, he didn’t mind at all. It’s not every day that fate intertwines you with your childhood crush.
You’d changed. Matthew knew puberty could hit anyone, but he honestly thought you had been really pretty before. Now… you looked unreal. Your body was perfect, your hair smooth and soft like silk, and your face looked like it belonged on a magazine cover. He was speechless for a moment.
“I guess one could say you’ve fallen head over heels for me instantly.” he smirked, his sense of humour apparently intact.
As your face started to flush, you threw him a “not funny” look. Trying to free yourself from his grasp, you suddenly winced as a sharp pain shot through your ankle. Matthew’s gaze traveled down to your right foot.
“This does not look pretty.” he said, examining your red, swollen ankle.
“Ugh... At least say it to my face.” you snarked, a mischievous grin dancing on your lips as you tried to lighten the mood.
But instead, Matthew looked you dead in the eyes, completely serious.
“Did you accidentally hit your head? Because you’re saying complete nonsense now.” his remark left you stunned. A new wave of heat rushed to your face.
“I always thought you were very pretty.”
Oh. That was the last straw. Your face went as red as your, supposedly, sprained ankle, and you could hear your heart drumming in your chest like crazy.
For Matt, time stopped. He would never have assumed he’d meet you again, and he took great joy in it, since he had always considered you his first love interest. You hadn’t noticed how he’d glanced at you in math class, or how his thumb brushed yours whenever you lent him a pencil. All of those small things made his heart skip a beat. And now, here you were, looking at him, as his heart raced just like it did back then. It was only him, you, and your ankle… your ankle? Oh, right!
“I’m sorry, miss. Are you alright?” A young gym staff member came running up, visibly panicked at the scene before him.
“My friend here fell from the treadmill, and we think she sprained her ankle.” Matthew explained.
“My mouth are still alrright, you know? Jeez, you really took the whole ‘national hero’ role seriously.” your ironic remark made your lips curl into a slight grin. You always loved pushing his buttons.
“The ‘national dork’ role was already taken.” he reciprocated your smug smile, gently helping you up.
You didn’t mind, though. That was one of many reasons you liked him so much. He lived up to every challenge.
Matt stayed by your side until the end. His endless chatter kept you company from the moment you staggered to the medical room, through the bandaging of your ankle, all the way to walking out into the parking lot. By the time you walked out of the building, you had already caught up on Matthew’s entire life—from graduating high school, to becoming an idol, and finally to his latest album. He offered to drive you home. With one ankle out of commission, you agreed.
“But what about your car?” you asked once Matthew helped you into the passenger seat.
“I’ll come back for it after I drop you off.” he shrugged, shutting the door.
It was a calm night. You leaned against the window as the soft buzzing of the engine accompanied music from the radio. With the street lamps hovering overhead, you looked as ou watched the little houses, mailboxes, and trees rush past, feeling so cozy like that with him by your side.
“I never would’ve guessed the worst day of my life would end like this.” you said, your gaze on him.
“Then would you consider this day rather mediocre or the best?” he asked, tilting his head with feigned curiosity.
“Definitely the best.” you replied under your breath, slightly embarrassed.
He responded with only a gentle curl of his lips.
Suddenly, everything about this night drive felt romantic. You told yourself “no more,” thinking maybe he felt a little rushed, unaware that Matthew was about to set the tempo to the max.
“Listen, I know it’s been a while,” he started, cursing a slight break in his voice, “And you’re not very mobile now, but would you consider grabbing a coffee with me someday?”
“For the last time, is everyone plugged in, for Christ’s sake?!” your manager shouted, clearly irritated.
You checked one last time if your guitar was connected to the PA system. Everything seemed alright.
“Y/N, why are you still in your pajamas?” the manager hurried over to you, his tone now laced with worry.
“This is not a pajama, it’s my rehearsal outfit.” you explained. “I was just heading over to the changing room.”
“Well, I’d like to see you actually in motion rather than just standing here expecting me to do everything.” he snarked.
You loved Mr. Song, but he could be the biggest pain in the ass sometimes.
Rolling your eyes, you put your guitar in its holder and went off to find your stylist.
You had to admit, being a rockstar could be tiring at times—like when your manager lost his temper and took it out on everyone around. But most of the time, it was amazing. You got to travel the world, doing your hobby and getting paid large sums at the same time. Not to mention, your social life had regained strength after your band became recognizable. It had always been your dream to turn your passion for music into something that could pay your rent, and now it finally made sense.
“Y/N, I prepared your outfit in changing room number two. Go try it on and let me know if you need any tailoring!” your stylist peeked from behind the curtain.
“Sure thing, I’m on it!” you replied, entering the small space and tugging the curtain behind you. You looked at the set in front of you. Your eyes immediately sparkled. God, it was cool! Without wasting another second, you changed into your outfit for tonight. You took a look in the mirror. Your concept for tonight was kind of medieval, and you could totally see your clothes reflecting that. The loose collar of your elegant white puffy shirt adorned your neck, and the ruffles around the sleeves looked simply majestic. Your waist was cinched with a burgundy corset with colorful embroidery of flowers and birds; little details such as crystals and beads reflected in the dim light. Your mini shorts didn’t cover much, but sparkling boots adorned with bows made up for it, reaching nearly your mid-thigh. You felt like a rebel female knight. You moved the curtain away and stepped out into the hallway.
“Wow, Y/N, you’re trying to outshine us or what?” one of your bandmates commented, lazily smoking a cigarette.
“Don’t have to put all that effort to do so.” you responded cockily.
“Save some of this attitude for tonight.” the tall drummer Minjoon advised before putting out the cigarette and heading to the makeup room.
“Y/N, you look stunning. Is everything fitting okay? Nothing itches or squeezes you?” your stylist’s voice echoed behind you.
“Nope, everything’s perfect!” you exclaimed cheerfully.
“Okay, then you can go get your hair and makeup done now. I told Mrs. Kim you’d come to her in a minute, so chop-chop!” she said before hurriedly looking for your fellow musicians to check on their fittings.
You sat down in front of a mirror, a pile of different makeup products displayed before you.
“We’ll go for a dramatic look today, okay?” Mrs. Kim explained as she began to apply a base to your face. “Before you drift off to sleep, tell me—silver or blue eyeshadow?”
She already knew you had a habit of falling asleep while getting your makeup done.
“Let’s go with silver. And can you make the lips a little darker than we agreed on last time?” you asked with puppy eyes.
“Of course, but be prepared—I’ll wake you up to check if it’s to your liking.” she warned.
You nodded, closing your eyes and slowly relaxing in your chair. As Mrs. Kim’s touch lingered on your face and gently caressed your skin, you felt yourself start to drift off. Man, you loved this job. You got to work with such an amazing team. Your bandmates were your best friends.
It all started with them back in high school. You had been thinking about joining the high school orchestra at the time, but you knew there was no place for an electric guitar. At the beginning of the second year, you noticed a small notice on the ladies’ bathroom wall, looking for a guitarist for a new amateur rock band. After taking the notice home, you immediately grabbed your guitar, preparing for an audition that was to be held a week later. You managed to impress everyone. With your sharp chords and smooth style, you easily became part of the group. You hit it off with all four members, but you connected especially with one of them—Kim Taerae, who played bass at the time.
You remembered your first concert: your hands trembled so much that you couldn’t grasp a chord properly during rehearsal. Shame and embarrassment bubbled inside you, but it suddenly went away once Taerae’s hand landed gently on your shoulder with a simple question full of honest care: “Are you okay?” Over time, you built the strongest bond among all the members. Many times, you and Taerae stayed after rehearsals, practicing your parts to perfection. Amid hard work, you didn’t forget to chat about your shared love for music, your day, or weekend plans.
There were rumors you two were dating. Your fellow colleagues often teased you, commenting on how you couldn’t pull away from each other. Both you and Taerae would blush, but you always brushed it off and bit back. You had a tongue as sharp as the chords you played. Sadly, you never noticed a glimpse of disappointment in Taerae’s eyes as you were too quick to reject the idea of being with him.
When you realized that maybe you did feel something for Taerae—something greater than shared hobbies—it was already graduation, and your paths irreversibly parted. He became a trainee in the K-pop industry while you went to college. Your bandmates continued pursuing their goals as a team, and you gladly stayed as the main guitarist. But since Taerae had to move away, he gave up his place in the band. With both your lifes busy, it was only a matter of time before you fell out of touch—and that’s exactly what happened.
Now, you only ever saw Taerae in music festivals online or when he was promoting a comeback. You knew he had succeeded in his music career, and you supported him wholeheartedly. You two never had a chance to meet at a music event since your styles were so different. His audience was mainly in Korea, while your band was international, doing better numbers in the States and across Europe. Not to mention, you two were traveling nearly every day. There was simply no time to reconnect after all these years. You had to get over the fact that you were late to tell him how you felt back then—just as you were late today for your performance.
“Okay, Y/N, wakey-wakey!” Mrs. Kim nudged your shoulder. With a gasp, you snapped out of your slumber. “What do we think about the lips?”
Your eyes, still adjusting to the brightness, tried to make something out of the blurry image before you.
“Yeah, it’s… great. Just how I wanted.” you shrugged off.
“You better pull yourself together in the next five minutes, or Mr. Song will kill us all.” she warned, packing up her tools.
“We still have time.” you yawned, considering a few more minutes of beauty sleep on the couch. But Mrs. Kim’s piercing gaze immediately told you to give up that plan.
“Alright, I’m going.” you sighed, lazily standing and heading under the stage. Your bandmates were already lined up on a platform that would take you up to the surface of the stage.
“Here comes our sleepyhead!” the frontman Wooyoung exclaimed in his warm, sing-song voice.
“You think all of this is natural? There are hours of hard sleep behind this masterpiece.” you said, your hand coming to grab your red electric guitar.
“Okay, since it seems everyone pulled their asses together, gather up, kids,” he said, embracing both Minjoon and the bassist Jungwon. “Let’s give these people a show so good they’ll piss their pants.”
And with that, your rock song blasted through the speakers. Smoke poured onto the stage, and your platform slowly rose. Suddenly, the dark space under the stage was struck by a sharp light from the spotlights. You stepped onto the stage with your instruments in hand, recognizing the crowd only by their loud screams and squeals. As the smoke settled, you were met with thousands of people, either holding their phones with the record button pressed or waving the light sticks of your band. You felt that familiar rush of excitement creeping up your spine—thrill, adrenaline, and a touch of nerves. It thrilled you in the most positive way.
“Make some noise!!” Wooyoung screamed into the microphone. The whole crowd responded with even higher-pitched squeals.
You began playing your title track. The energy that day was unmatched. All of you played your best ever, and the crowd gave their all, singing at the top of their lungs. Song after song, you didn’t realize it was time for closing speeches and goodbyes. All five of you stood in line, giving your fans heartwarming messages of thanks. Wooyoung went first, then Jungwon, keyboardist Sangwoo, Minjoon, and lastly—you. Putting your pink diamond microphone to your mouth, you spoke as articulately as you could.
“You were amazing tonight!” you started. As you spoke about the meaning of your last album and how hard you all worked to make it happen, you scanned the crowd, trying to remember as many faces as possible. You loved your fans—they were the engine behind everything you’d achieved with your band.
As your gaze skipped from one person to another, your eyes stopped on one face. Your breath hitched. Words froze in your mouth. Your friends immediately looked at you in panic.
“And… it would be impossible to do it all without you. Please keep supporting us in our journey to the stars!” Regaining your composure, you ended your speech, eyes still glued to the person standing near the barriers. You knew him from somewhere. He seemed to recognize you, staring back with a faint smile. You squinted, hoping it would make your vision clearer—but it was in vain.
“Goodnight, and go back to your homes safely!” Wooyoung exclaimed as the members started gathering on the platform, ready to take you down again. You followed, still straining to recognize who that person was. And then it clicked.
Your stomach sank instantly. Nooo, you missed your chance, right? You looked up to see yourself drifting further away from the spotlight. You bit your lip. It was now or never. Like a strike of lightning, you jumped off the platform and ran through the endless maze of steel braces and staff members. Your friends, stunned and puzzled, only managed to call your name a few times before losing sight of you. They began following your direction, actively looking for you now.
You headed to the front of the stage and peered through the black curtains. Many people were still leaving the stadium. Your eyes frantically searched for the ash-blonde hair and orange hoodie. C’mon, how hard could it be to spot a literal cheese puff—there he is!
Amid the chaos, you managed to sneak out of your hiding place and grab his sleeve.
“Hey, what is—?!” Startled, he turned around, only to be met with your enthusiastic face.
“Come to the backstage.” you uttered quickly before disappearing behind the curtain again.
You exhaled. Were you really holding your breath that whole time?
“Y/N, what the hell came over you just now?” a scolding voice cut in. “All these years, and you didn’t know we weren’t doing a meet-and-greet after the show?” Wooyoung snapped, narrowing his eyes in frustration.
“Sorry, I just needed to say hi to an old friend,” you explained. “And you actually might want to greet him too.” Adding that, you headed back to the backstage, your members following in curiosity.
After a few minutes, your bodyguard came up to you.
“There’s this guy. He says he got a special invitation from you.” he said. “The name’s Taerae. Should I let him in?”
“Yeah, he’s a friend of mine. He’s fine.” you replied, your heart beating faster now that you were seconds away from reuniting with Taerae after so many years.
The bodyguard opened the door, and your past bestie stepped inside. He looked around, spotting you after a second. You took a deep breath.
“Hey…” you started, unsure if he really recognized you or if you were just imagining it.
Taerae stared at you, wide-eyed. If anything, it made you doubt yourself more.
Yet again, you failed to notice the sparkle in his gaze. He wasn’t confused—he was mesmerized.
He remembered you, of course he did. You were his first crush. But what he remembered and what his eyes were seeing now were two completely different versions of the same person. The version of you from high school always wore flannels, high Converse, and maybe some mascara if you felt fancy. You looked unreal. Still in your stage makeup and outfit, you looked like you could command armies. Your body hugged perfectly by the corset, each piece of your outfit adorned with stunning details. Taerae’s cheeks flushed a ripe, beautiful red. He would never have thought he could find you attractive—but now, he swore he could fall to his knees right here in front of everyone.
“Gosh, Taerae, I feel so bad right now. Please just say something—anything, I beg of you.” you blurted out, your voice tense, your body stiff as if any movement might scare him away.
“Y/N… I’m sorry, I just… it’s been a very long time, I don’t know how to…” he tried to form a coherent sentence, but his brain was failing him.
Your heart sank. You really hoped it would go better.
“I know you must feel overwhelmed right now. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry if I forced you into anything, I just…” You trailed off, tongue ready to spill everything you’d held back. “I was so happy to see you today, I freaked out.”
“You didn’t force me into anything!” he assured, scratching the back of his neck. “Please don’t be sorry. I just wasn’t expecting a backstage entry—and may I add, a private one.” he grinned, his unique smile lighting up his face.
Taerae hadn’t changed much. His posture was more manly now, and he had muscles, but he was still as cute as ever. His hair, now dirty blonde, was messily ruffled on top of his head, his eyes still holding that innocent, pure sparkle, and that damned smile could clear the sky in a split second. You could see the Taerae you had fallen in love with.
“Consider it a favor from an old friend.” you reciprocated the smile.
“You were incredible tonight.” he praised.
“Thanks, but how did you even end up here?” you furrowed your brow in confusion. “I know you have your own music career, so how did you manage to squeeze our concert into your schedule?”
“We’re done with promotion, and I have some time to enjoy the place.” he explained. “My friend lives nearby and offered me a ticket since the previous owner fell sick and couldn’t make it today.”
“Taerae, I actually want—!”
“No way, man! Are my eyes fooling me right now?!” you were sharply cut off by a loud, audible voice of your frontman.
Honestly, how Wooyoung managed to keep his voice after a three-hour rock concert was still a mystery to you.
“Is this our sweet little duck?” he threw his arms around Taerae, ruffling his hair even more.
The boys exchanged greetings and engaged in small talk while the others joined them. Your confession had been pushed into the background—but maybe it was for the better. You were always hot-headed; this time, you wanted to play it cool.
After chatting a bit longer, the boys went back to get changed and wash off their makeup, leaving just you and Taerae.
Your mind was coming up with a hundred different ways to ask Taerae out, but he came up with a counterattack in no time, effectively blocking every offer:
“Remember I said I have some free time now? Would you like to spend it with me?”
Your heels clicked softly against the pavement as you made your way from the parking lot to the gallery. You took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of pine trees planted nearby. Your heart was beating faster, as if it was about to jump out of your chest.
Stepping inside the spacious white building, you politely greeted the other employees. Every kind smile you exchanged with them was perfected to hide any quivering lip or trembling voice. You had mastered the art of pretending—becoming a walking temple full of monks, a lotus flower floating in the middle of a perfectly smooth sheet of water—
The chirping voice of your most beloved assistant completely tore down the walls of your holy temple.
You turned around and were greeted by a much shorter woman, holding a pile of papers—your speech for tonight.
“Miss, I was talking with the staff. They say everything’s ready, each piece displayed exactly as you wanted in the project. But in the meantime, could you please check room number six? We still think the light is a little too dark there. There’s that… oh! And I also seated the main investors to your right so they’ll have a better view of the Dies Irae piece. We ordered more bottles of the champagne you picked for the degustation—they should arrive any minute now, but of course the staff will make sure to unload them in time for the big opening. I’ll make sure myself, I swear!” she mumbled, frantically scrolling through her notes on her tablet, balancing the pile of papers in her other hand, and nervously fixing her big round glasses.
You placed your hand gently on her shoulder.
“Mrs. Lee, two deep breaths, please.” you ordered, embarrassment creeping up your spine as you thought—if she doesn’t have it together, then what state should you be in?
The woman started huffing until she finally let out a relaxed, high-pitched “Aahhh.”
“Miss Y/N, I assume you know the schedule by now. At 6:00 p.m., the grand opening of the exhibition. Then greetings, your speech—here you are.” At that, she handed you a thick block of paper, every page full of text. “At 7:30 p.m., another round of champagne, we open the buffet, and finally, from 8:00 p.m. till midnight—the auction.”
You gulped. No one could ever prepare you for this. No art teacher had ever told you how terrifying it would be to hold your very first exhibition. You carried the worst trait an artist could have: you were never sure if your work would appeal to the public eye. But you had been creating for years. All your pieces had started to collect dust in the attic, and at the urging and constant nagging of your colleagues, you finally decided it was now or never.
I mean, what could go wrong? Besides no one buying your artwork, the sponsors thinking they had wasted their money, and everyone remembering you as the biggest artistic failure in history.
A shiver ran down your spine.
“My… thank you, Mrs. Lee. You are irreplaceable. I owe you everything, really.” You took her hand in yours, squeezing it gently.
“Nonsense, darling,” she sheepishly replied. “I know what this means to you—I’ve been there myself. It’s taking a toll on me too, but believe me, you deserve every penny you earn tonight. You’ve worked hard for it. Don’t let the pressure ruin it for you.” She looked deep into your eyes.
She was right. Since graduating college, you had been working on this exhibition. You took part in smaller projects over the years just to afford living like a civilized person, but you were always chasing that feeling of satisfaction that comes from creating something truly your own.
You glanced at the clock hanging above the entrance. You still had about forty minutes until the first guests would arrive. Still enough time to pack everything up and flee.
“Mrs. Lee, please send me your notes on what’s left to check. I’ll go and set it up myself.” you said, already wondering just how many pages she had written for you.
She nodded, and with that, you headed over to room number six.
After entering, your gaze immediately fell upon a statue displayed on a small platform. It was a playful thing, really. At first glance it looked like a pile of rubbish glued together. Only when the light was positioned at a certain angle did its shadow reveal an unmistakable resemblance to Michelangelo’s David.
It was funny, really—how you always looked up to your masters, trying to become one of them, creating pieces that would somehow reach their level, but always feeling like you weren’t doing enough. Like you were lacking something. Not enough talent, hard work, or creativity. You sighed while moving the beam of light a little toward the center of the statue to make its shadow more proportional. You turned up the brightness to make the image sharper.
You moved on to the next rooms from Mrs. Lee’s list, tending to every detail, checking every angle and placement. Finally, after making a full trip around the exhibition, you sat on a bench in front of the last artwork.
An enormous canvas displayed a kindergarten scene. The children were playing something that looked like a workplace. Boys in ties, girls in their prettiest dresses. They sat neatly at their desks, all of them equally spaced. The children looked visibly bored or sad, forced to sit still with nothing fun to do. Some scribbled letters or patterns, others stared out the window in a melancholic daze.
It was something you felt too. You too had the impression you were just a little kid who happened to be the age when adults expect you to work. It was honestly a little devastating, knowing that most of your friends were long settled by now—with their fiancés, wives, husbands, or even children. Yet you were still here, not really knowing which direction to take next.
Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you. You looked over your shoulder only to see a tall figure sitting next to you, facing the other wall. You were looking at the man dressed in a sleek black suit, his hair the same shade as his clothes.
“Did not expect you to be this romantic.” his low, warm voice echoed through the space.
“Excuse me?” You were stunned, to say the least. You stood up, turning fully in his direction.
He looked over his shoulder. His pale skin contrasted with the darkness of his suit. He then rose, and the two of you stood in silence, staring at each other—pure calm in his eyes, pure irritation in yours.
“Sir, what are you doing here?” you stuttered “Guests are not allowed in this section yet.”
“I wanted to get a better look before I decide which piece to take with me tonight.” he replied, his voice dripping with honey.
You were dumbfounded. Completely helpless against this man, you let out a sigh.
“I would like to invite you to take your seat in the main hallway. The official opening will begin in just a minute.” you tried to sound as kind and professional as you could.
“Then why don’t you escort me there yourself, since I suppose you’re playing the host tonight?” he purred. You could feel your blood starting to boil at his attitude.
“May I get your name, sir?” If he was going to be difficult, you would make sure to never put him on the guest list again.
“Shen Quan Rui. Or, for you, Ricky.” he responded bluntly.
You froze. Your heart dropped to your stomach and then shot back up again. You couldn’t believe what you had just heard.
“You’re Ricky?” Your high-pitched voice startled not only you, but also Ricky himself.
“Well, yeah. Why would I lie about my identity?” he asked, a small smile decorating his face after hearing your ridiculous comment.
“No, it’s just… you look nothing like how I remembered you.”
Back in high school, you both took a fine art course. That’s how you met Ricky in the first place. He was always calm, reserved, and even a bit shy. But you made it your goal to break through his shell. It took a lot of time and effort, but you actually managed to become best friends with him. You always worked together on group projects. If you needed paint, Ricky was already pouring some of his premium colors onto your palette. If he forgot to bring his sketches of still life, you were quick to hand him one of your extras so he could pretend that overnight he had completely changed his art style.
You were inseparable. That is, until you both graduated. You decided to pursue your career in art and went to college, while Ricky decided to try his luck in music.
But the Ricky in front of you looked nothing like the boy you remembered. The slim, lanky frame had transformed into an athletic build—and was that really the outline of his biceps under his perfectly tailored suit? His blonde, nearly white hair was now jet black and looked far healthier than when you used to help him bleach it. He was a completely different man now, standing tall and proud, his gaze piercing through you.
That exterior gave no hint that this Ricky, standing as proudly as a statue, was actually melting inside right here and now. Of course he remembered your name. His memory worked just fine. So when one of his higher-ranking colleagues asked him to attend the exhibition in his place, he was surprised to see your name on the invitation—but he accepted the offer anyway. It would look unprofessional if one of the main investors ignored the event and didn’t send anyone on his behalf. Ricky hated being late, so he made sure to be one of the first to arrive. But, as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat—and he ended up looking for you, hoping to bump into you somehow. And he succeeded.
Ricky analyzed your every feature now, just like you used to analyze paintings back then. Strands of your hair gently caressed your face, falling like feathers onto your shoulders. He studied your jawline, your chin, across your lips, up your nose, and finally your eyes. Your beautiful, kind eyes. Ricky thought everything you saw must look twice as beautiful as it did to anyone else—because no way you saw the world the same way he did. Not with that pair of crystal-glass beads hidden under the curtain of your lashes.
You had grown. He knew you wouldn’t look like your high school self, but apparently he hadn’t prepared enough. Your face, no longer softened by baby fat, was now slim, your cat-like features adding to your beauty. Your long neck, your visible collarbones—Ricky could easily mistake you for one of the exhibition’s greatest pieces. And were you really wearing heels? Tomboy Y/N from high school never would have.
He was mesmerized, though he masked it with practiced composure. The two of you stood meters apart, scanning each other’s faces for any sign of discomfort or embarrassment.
“As much as I’d love to talk about my looks, I think a room full of important people is now waiting for you.” he said, cockily tilting his head to the side.
The grand opening! Your stomach flipped.
Ricky slowly walked past you, stopping at shoulder height. He leaned in, whispering almost inaudibly:
“Don’t let them devour you.”
A shiver ran down your spine.
And with that, he was gone.
You stood in the empty room for a moment longer before composing yourself and heading to the main hall. Your gaze sharpened, your heels now clicking like blades.
You started by greeting the main sponsors, thanking your closest colleagues and team members who had collaborated with you on this project. Explaining the motive behind your exhibition, your eyes never once left Ricky.
All this time, you kept thinking about what he had said to you—how he had grounded you with only a few words. Because honestly, the biggest predator here was Ricky. He had the gaze of a black panther, sharp and watchful.
Suddenly, something clicked inside you. Immediately, you wanted all of this—every speech, every bow, every champagne toast—to be your proving point. You actually wished Ricky would walk up to you after this whole show, shake your hand, and say: “I’m proud of you.”
Because you had always admired him. His talent. His skill. He was unreal to you. And now, for the first time, you had a chance to prove yourself worthy in his eyes. But why, oh why, were you so desperate to make him obsessed with you only now?
Maybe it was the hope that had appeared on the horizon for rekindling the connection. Maybe it was the fact that, once again, he was within your reach. Or maybe it was simply that your meeting here felt like fate rather than a carefully arranged plan.
Then it hit you. Everyone was on their feet.
Their seats stood empty. They were all standing tall, clapping, their applause loud and thunderous—respect making its way onto their faces.
You had managed to earn a standing ovation. And it was for you. You alone.
The guests returned to their second glasses of champagne.
You moved among them, tending to every request. The auction was about to begin, and before that, you wanted to grant each potential buyer a detailed description of the artworks. Occupied by endless chatter and explanations, you completely missed the way Ricky was looking at you.
His gaze was exactly what you had wished for—dripping with praise and admiration.
Only when you finished explaining the inspiration behind one of your paintings to a potential client did you notice him. He was standing alone by the window, circling the sparkling liquid in his glass.
You excused yourself politely and made your way toward him.
“You know, if you’re interested in buying something, now is the time to look around.” you remarked, taking a sip from your own glass.
Ricky’s gaze shifted back to you.
And that’s when you finally realized it. He wasn’t looking at your artworks. He was looking at you—with pure adoration in his eyes.
Your cheeks flushed bright red.
“I already know which art piece I want to take home with me.” he said calmly, setting his glass on the little table nearby.
“Oh? And which one would that be?” you asked, curiosity slipping into your voice.
“The most beautiful artwork here tonight.” His tone was low, almost a whisper.
His cold hand brushed your cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. Your lips parted slightly in shock.
Your eyes met his. You didn’t need further explanation. The meaning of his words was obvious. With that look in his eyes, how could you mistake it for anything else?
For a moment, you doubted reality, wondering if this was just a dream. But then you felt his grounding grip on your hand and clearly heard the words that spilled from his lips next:
“You should remember—I’ve always had good taste in art. So, what do you say? Will my desired piece go home with me after the party ends?”
It was summer again. You could feel it as you strolled through the nearby park, little droplets of sweat trickling down the back of your neck while you searched for a nice place to sit. The sun had no mercy that day, and you hoped there was still a patch of shade left for you. Finally, after crossing the fourth alley, you spotted a lone tree—the cool, dark space beneath its leaves still empty, as if waiting just for you. You hurried over, set down your bag, and made yourself comfortable. Crossing your legs, you felt content, as if you had already achieved your only goal for the day.
It was peaceful. Despite the park being crowded with families and groups of friends, everyone seemed lost in their own world. And finally, you could sink into yours. Relieved, you opened your book to the page where you had left your bookmark. This was how you spent your vacation now: in peace, and alone. And that was fine with you. It wasn’t that you were an introvert—you had your group of friends—but on days like these, especially late mornings, you simply preferred to enjoy your free time with a cold americano and a good read.
At that thought, your memory drifted back to how you used to spend your summers as a child.
You had actually been a very social kid. You had lots of friends, and making new ones was never a problem. That was why you liked going to school, something your parents cherished and thanked nature for. The problem came when school was over and summer break began. Your friends lived far from you—and from each other—so meeting up wasn’t easy. That was when one of your closest friends came up with an idea: summer camp.
Your parents were worried at first, assuming you’d feel scared and overwhelmed being so far away from home. But eventually, they decided to give it a try. Much to their surprise, you called them the very first day sounding happier than you had ever been. Summer camp was a dream for you—so many new faces, so many fun activities, and no parents in sight!
On your first camp, you made plenty of connections, but one stood out above the rest. That was when you met Kim Guyvin.
A light breeze caressed your face as you tried to paint his image in your memory.
You were certain that was his name. You had spent way too much time with him to forget it. Guyvin was your partner in crime. You two were inseparable—he even sacrificed himself by always picking you for his team, even though you were terrible at dodgeball. Every little necklace you made out of pines and beads was for him. Each time, you hoped this would be the one he would finally wear proudly, but to no avail. He always said necklaces were for girls. Yet he kept them all, taking every single one home.
Oh, you two were always insufferable on the last night of camp—smearing toothpaste on doorknobs, drawing silly patterns on your supervisors, running around even though it was long past bedtime. That’s how you earned the nickname “double trouble.”
Those were the good times. After meeting Guyvin, you became a regular at the camp. Every summer, you would explore something new, bringing home even more ridiculous stories. But then, slowly, you started to grow out of it. As a teenager, you were no longer interested in “doing the grind” on making friends and the whole camp idea began to feel childish. So when you were sixteen, you told Guyvin it would be your last session.
You still remembered how his expression shifted immediately from happy to devastated. But by then you were about to turn seventeen, and you were tired of hanging out with people much younger than you. Your peers had already given up camp long ago, and by that point, only you and Guyvin kept the tradition alive.
You had honestly hoped the two of you would keep in touch. And at first, you did—despite him living nearly across the country. You wrote letters, and later, when you got phones, you messaged online. But camp had always been the glue that held you together, the guaranteed meeting point every summer. Without it, the responsibility to make time fell on both of you—and as teenagers, still dependent on your families, neither of you had the independence to arrange it.
And so your relationship with Guyvin simply faded away. You had no idea what he was up to these days.
Filled with nostalgia, you sighed. You could really use a friend like Guyvin now. It had always been easy with him. The times you spent together were some of the most fun in your life. You even remembered how, one summer, when he arrived, he opened his car door and—like a bolt of lightning—something small and gray jumped out.
You had been stunned to see an energetic little puppy, jumping at your legs as if eager to play.
“Eumpappa, stop it!” Guyvin had scolded, but the pup ignored him.
“I’m sorry, she gets like this around people she likes.” he said, scratching the back of his head.
You hadn’t minded at all. You loved dogs, and seeing that this one liked you had made you squeal with happiness.
Lost in those memories, you didn’t notice the ball of fur charging at you until it was too late. Suddenly, something jumped on you from behind, startling you and sending you flat onto your stomach.
“Hey, what the—!” you yelped, only to be cut off by a cold, wet tongue licking all over your face.
Muffling your words, you caught a glimpse of the dog’s collar. After reading the name etched in small print, your eyes widened.
You managed to wriggle free from the slobbery attack, propping yourself up on your elbows to take a better look at the dog.
It was the same pup that had once jumped out of Guyvin’s car. Only now, she was grown.
“Eumpappa!! Eumpappa, wait—oh my god, Eumpappa!!” a familiar voice shouted.
You turned toward the sound and froze as the tallest man alive came running in your direction.
Panting, he stopped to catch his breath, hands on his hips.
You couldn’t believe your eyes. If not for his boyish face, you would never have guessed it was Kim Guyvin himself. The only thing left of the summer camp boy you used to climb trees with were those big, brown, puppy-like eyes.
“I’m so sorry—she broke free from the leash. She sometimes jumps on people when she’s excited. Are you alright? I hope she didn’t get dirt on you!” Flustered and nervous, he looked you over for stains or bruises. His embarrassed expression helped you overcome your shock—you even found it… adorable.
“Yeah, I know that from first-hand experience.” you laughed, gently stroking the dog’s head.
“Remember summer camp? Five years ago?” you asked, unmistakable hope in your voice. You weren’t sure what gave you such a surge of courage in that moment, but you sincerely wanted him to remember you.
If his eyes could get any wider, they just did.
He stared at you for a moment, completely puzzled, then suddenly burst out laughing.
“No way—it’s you, Y/N! My god, how is this even possible?!” He threw his arms around you, with Eumpappa still jumping at your back.
“Guyvin, I can’t breathe!” you groaned, feeling your lungs being squeezed.
“Oh, sorry!” He immediately loosened his grip and stepped back to look at you properly.
God, you were stunning. He remembered you as a short, clumsy smarty-pants, always running around with bruised legs and dirt under your nails. That version of you was nowhere to be seen now. You looked… cool. Your hair shimmered in the sunlight as you brushed a strand from your face. No trace of dirt under your nails—they were polished bright red, matching the color on your lips.
A blush crept up his cheeks. He needed to get it together—fast.
You chuckled at his expression.
Even standing nearly two meters tall, with visible muscles and a more mature face, he still looked like a total puppy when embarrassed.
“What are you doing here?” you asked.
“We’re doing a promotion here, and my family came to support us,” he replied.
“Promotion? Support who?” you asked, confused.
“Oh… so you haven’t seen it?” he asked, looking a little disappointed.
“Seen what?” you frowned.
“I became an idol.” he stated bluntly.
“A what?” you gasped. The boy you used to jump over campfires was… a superstar?!
“Hey, I like it, okay? No need to be judgmental—it’s our first meeting in five years and you—”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that!” you cut him off quickly, seeing how defensive he’d gotten. Nervous puppy.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m really happy for you, Guyvin.” you added, your voice softer now, like a gentle hand on his head. “I’m just surprised that, in the meantime, you became a superstar.” You grinned.
Guyvin felt his cheeks burn hotter. You had the most perfect smile he’d ever seen—it made him giddy inside.
“Listen… I know it’s been a while, but maybe you’d like to take a stroll with us?” he asked, cursing himself for the slight tremor in his voice.
You raised an eyebrow, warmth blooming on your face.
“You know, Eumpappa really missed you.” he said scratching the back of his head as a faint blushed tinted his cheeks.
It really was a perfect day for a football game. As you stepped onto the bleachers, looking over the open school stadium, memories of your middle school years came crashing over you like a wave. You remembered when you had to run from one gate to the other and back just to pass your PE class. Those memories definitely fell into the "rather forget" category.
You looked with admiration at the seats, the grass, and the distant building that had once been your school. Everything had once been 'yours'. You had to admit, you felt stuck. You had secured a place in one of the best universities in Korea and landed a nice job. You had ticked nearly every box on the list. But there was still something missing. Was it a car? You were pretty satisfied with what you had now. Your apartment was humble, but perfectly sufficient. The last thing on the list was a happy relationship—but that was the hardest to achieve. For everything you already had, you only ever needed to put in effort. Do the hard work, and eventually, you succeeded. But this one was tricky. You couldn’t do it alone. Motivating someone to help you was also in vain. That’s how you ended up with practically everything a girl could dream of—except the perfect boyfriend who would complete your picture-perfect life.
Would a football game at your old school stadium solve that problem? Doubtful. But you needed to fill your free time with something, or you would burn your eyes out from all the sitcoms you had been watching. And why not spend these two hours reminiscing about life and getting nostalgic?
You sat yourself on the bench, high enough to have a perfect view of the football pitch. It was a gloomy autumn day. You tightened the scarf around your neck. The seats were slowly filling with families and friends of the players, reminding you that you, too, used to come here for someone special.
You had been Gunwook's personal cheerleader, attending every game, gripping your thumbs so hard that your knuckles turned white. Your voice echoed across the pitch every time he touched the ball. And with every goal he scored, you couldn’t help but jump from your seat and clap in happiness.
Gunwook was so cool. You had admired him throughout all your school years. He was always on top of his class, managing to be both class president and a perfect student. You always aspired to reach his level, which resulted in a little friendly competition between the two of you over who would achieve more by the end of the school year. You were hot-tempered and determined; when you set a goal, you always got what you wanted. Gunwook reflected all of those qualities. Both of you earned scholarships every year, volunteered in nearby dog shelters, participated in extracurricular activities like the debate club, or played in school sports team. You accompanied him for the volunteering and academic activities, but football? You passed. Instead, you preferred tutoring other students or participating in your math club.
But because you were one of Gunwook’s closest friends, he always invited you to the games. You couldn’t afford to be quite as cool as him, so at first, you hesitated. The thought of dealing with his awesome teammates sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t help it—you were socially awkward. Only Gunwook could bring out a more fun, laid-back version of you. Without him, you felt like you were always on track, calculated and stiff. You were extremely jealous that he made it look like every success came to him effortlessly, without sacrificing his social life and health to achieve it—the opposite of your approach.
Most people thought you had a stick up your ass, but that wasn’t true. Around Gunwook, you could sometimes behave nearly unhinged. Like the time you were drinking strawberry milk after school on your way home and he made you laugh so hard that you accidentally spat all your milk onto some random passer-by's face. In panic, you hopped onto Gunwook’s bicycle, screaming, “GO, GO, GO!!!” And he did, leaving the poor guy drenched in strawberry-saliva milk in seconds. Gunwook’s best stories always included you—every single one.
The chilly breeze swooshed past your face, moving your hair along with it. The players came onto the pitch and began warming up. The benches were now nearly full.
You looked around, curious if there was someone you might know from middle school.
And to your surprise, there was.
You blinked twice, then thrice. You squinted, not believing the sight before you. At the edge of the bleachers stood a tall, black-haired man, visibly searching for an empty seat. You panicked. There was a 100% chance it was Gunwook. You barely recognized him. He was… hot.
Amidst the crisp air, you felt warmth creeping up your cheeks.
Immediately, you turned your head 180 degrees. This simply couldn’t be how the two of you met after all these years. You hadn’t styled your hair, your makeup was surely cakey by now, and you were sitting in a plain trench coat and washed jeans. You weren’t even supposed to meet him—ever.
“Sorry, is this seat taken?” a sudden voice interrupted your train of thought. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you looked up, already bracing yourself for who you were about to see.
He was dressed in a black puffer jacket and baggy jeans in the same color. Those eyes that had once looked at you in amusement were now filled with curiosity.
“N-no…” you replied, crumbling internally at the audible break in your voice.
Your gaze lingered for only a split second before snapping back to its original position—as far from Gunwook as possible.
How did he manage to glow up like that? Did he really have to improve in everything? Couldn’t he just stop? Couldn't he have like... at least one flaw? He couldn’t be this freaking perfect.
You were stunned by your own thoughts. Sure, you had found Gunwook attractive before, he was objectively good-looking. But never by any means would you consider being with him romantically. You had too much on your plate—there was no time for boyfriends, not that there was much time for friends either, with only a few exceptions. You also knew your own league—and it was nowhere near Gunwook’s. And you were at peace with that. But right now? He was testing your sanity.
“Wait a minute, I know you.”
Again with the interruption. Gunwook just couldn’t let you finish thinking about him.
You instinctively turned your head toward him. And it was the worst mistake you could have made. Two pairs of eyes now stared at each other with confusion.
“Y/N?” he asked, thick eyebrows raised.
“Bingo.” you sighed, clearly bummed that he got it right on the first try. Gunwook’s thing, you assumed.
“My god, I haven’t seen you since graduation from middle school!” he exclaimed, his signature gummy smile lighting up his face.
“How have you been?” he asked, and suddenly everything happening on the football pitch started to blur, leaving only you, Gunwook, and the conversation you were having.
You learned that Gunwook had done exactly what you had done today—visited his old school, checked whether the plaster was peeling off the walls, and stumbled upon this football game, eventually deciding to stay. Mathematically, the chances of you two meeting here were nearly impossible.
You told him what you were up to these days: going to your (boring) job every day, returning to your (boring) apartment in this (boring) neighborhood. In contrast, Gunwook entertained—and simultaneously devastated—you with his story of becoming an idol. His life was a fever dream to you. Everything always seemed to come easily to him.
When asked if you were seeing someone, you felt like you should lie. You weren’t the type to seek help or attention in that way. You even thought being single was an advantage—until it wasn’t. Over time, you realized you had never invested in creating long-lasting friendships. All of your closest friends had families, and you were left alone on the couch. You had hoped someone would eventually find you, but no one knocked on your door. Meeting people through dating apps seemed cringe and unnatural, so you had given up for a while.
So what were you thinking when you told Gunwook you were actually experiencing a romantic drought? Let’s face it—it was a very strategic and not-so-subtle question.
Gunwook was delighted to hear that. Having known him all these years, it was clear that his thoughts were unknowable to anyone but him. You could never read his mind. Gunwook was highly articulate, but behind this slick tongue, he was internally speechless.
Your minds were in perfect sync today, because Gunwook was asking himself the exact same questions:
The last time he had seen you, you had been walking around in your crumpled uniform, your hair a mess, and the bags under your eyes begging for a normal sleep schedule.
You looked nothing like that girl now. Your figure was simply astonishing, every curve perfectly shaped. Your hair was healthy, with a visible glow, and your face… god, he could stare at it for hours.
His eyes scanned your features as he actively listened to what you had to say.
Your pondering was cut off by a loud, sharp whistle. The game began.
Your attention immediately shifted to the players. Maintaining small talk, you both engaged in watching the game. You felt like a student again, seated on the bench, clutching your thumbs for dear life as your eyes tracked the ball. But in all of this, you failed to notice Gunwook’s eyes trailing every feature, every detail on your face.
The game ended with your school’s team winning. Watching the young boys thank each other for the fair match, you turned to him, wanting at least to form a coherent sentence.
“It was really nice meeting you here,” you started, slowly losing control over your own tongue. “I hope we’ll be able to do it again sometime.”
“Are you free after this?” he asked, his voice laced with something mischievous you couldn’t quite place.
You hesitated. Of course, you didn’t have any other plans. You simply assumed he did, so it was more of a proposal than a question but again—
Stop overthinking. Tired of yourself and embarrassed, you managed to let out a faint and uncertain “No.”
“Then what’s the rush?” he asked, standing up.
You were even more confused. What was he thinking? You would kill to read his mind right now.
“What do you mean?” you asked, defeated.
His next question made your knees weak. Thankfully, you were still seated on the bench because you were sure your legs would have buckled if you’d been standing.
“Since it’s already a date, what would you say if we went to get some dinner?”
