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Nothing But Net (and Nonsense)

Aespa Winter one-shot fanfic

Snow in Dallas was never supposed to feel this heavy.

The city had seen winter before. Thin layers of white dusting rooftops, iced roads that sent Texans into mild panic, the kind of cold that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. But this storm was different. One of those rare winter systems that swallowed the skyline whole, turned familiar streets into slick sheets of ice, and muted the city beneath a frozen hush. Everywhere you looked, Dallas was wrapped in white, as if the city itself had decided to pause.

For Dallas sports fans, the timing felt cruel.

It had been almost a year since that night. The night people still spoke about carefully, as if saying it too loudly might reopen something that never truly healed. The franchise hero, the golden boy who was once destined for a statue outside the arena, was gone. Luka Dončić.

The explanation given was simple and rehearsed. Defense wins championships. It sounded clean enough on paper, but no slogan could soften the reality of what was lost. Fans filled in the gaps with their own theories. Front office ego. Panic decisions. Financial motives. Anything that made more sense than willingly letting go of the player who had carried the city for seven years.

Copper Flagg was special. No one denied that. Nineteen years old, raw but undeniably talented, with flashes of brilliance that hinted at an All Star future. He had time. He had upside.

But upside did not replace memories.

Potential could not substitute loyalty. Seven years of Luka bleeding blue and white, smiling through losses, delivering impossible shots, and promising better days ahead. You could not trade away that kind of bond and expect the city to move on quietly.

As snow continued to fall and Dallas slowed to a crawl, the grief lingered just as thick. Cold, unresolved, and still aching.

And somewhere in the city, one particular fan was taking it far more personally than most.

Minjeong Kim, better known to most people as Winter Kim, was known by her coworkers for two things. Her obsessive basketball knowledge and her alarming emotional attachment to the Dallas Mavericks. Ironically enough, this made her the perfect sports writer for the team.

She grew up in South Korea, oceans away from Texas, but her loyalty to the Mavericks began the moment Dirk Nowitzki dragged Dallas to the hardest championship ring imaginable, toppling prime LeBron James and the Miami Heat. That run changed everything for her. It was the moment basketball stopped being a sport she watched and became something she felt.

When college rolled around, Winter packed her life into suitcases and moved to Dallas to study journalism, specializing almost immediately in sports. Writing about the Mavericks did not feel like work to her. It felt like destiny. She jumped in joy when they won and had to physically restrain herself from throwing her television across the room when they lost. Her neighbors were familiar with both her celebrations and her despair.

One of her most treasured memories was witnessing Dirk’s final game in person at the American Airlines Center. She cried. She swore she wouldn’t. She cried anyway. Watching the man who made her fall in love with basketball say goodbye felt like the closing of a sacred chapter.

Which made what happened next feel unforgivable.

Luka Dončić being traded was shocking enough. Luka being traded to the Lakers was a crime against humanity.

Winter did not scream. She did not cry. She simply stared at her screen in silence for three full seconds before picking up her television and throwing it straight out of her apartment window in pure disbelief and rage.

Somewhere down the road, a homeless man looked up at the sudden gift from the heavens and thanked God for providing him with a perfectly sellable television.

Winter, meanwhile, was already drafting the angriest article of her career.

And sure enough, the pieces she submitted became the company’s most explosive hit work to date. What started as personal grief quickly turned into a full-blown indictment of the trade itself. Winter did not hold back. She was unfiltered, unapologetic, and brutally honest, channeling the raw emotions of die hard Mavericks fans who felt betrayed, not just the heartbreak of a Luka fan losing her favorite player.

Her writing was sharp and devastatingly beautiful. Every paragraph dissected the front office’s incompetence, the owner’s delusion, and the ego-driven decisions masked behind empty championship buzzwords. She did not insult for the sake of outrage. She laid out facts, history, and emotional truth with surgical precision. It was less an article and more a public reckoning.

The response was immediate. Traffic surged. Comments flooded in. Fans shared her work like a rallying cry. Some called it reckless. Others called it the most honest thing written about the Mavericks in years.

Inside the office, however, Winter became untouchable.

For two straight weeks, her coworkers avoided her like she carried a contagious disease. No casual greetings. No small talk. No jokes. Everyone knew Winter already had a short fuse on a good day, and after what the Mavericks had done to Luka Dončić, that fuse had been reduced to a spark.

She showed up, wrote like a woman possessed, and left without a word.

And God help anyone who tried to bring up the Lakers.

Anyone, that is, except her best friend and coworker, Karina.

Karina was the only person in the office granted full immunity from Winter’s wrath. Not because she understood basketball, but precisely because she didn’t. Karina wasn’t into sports at all, yet she took an alarming amount of joy in pressing every single one of Winter’s buttons. It was practically a hobby.

Once, completely unprovoked, Karina casually remarked that the Lakers were probably going to win a championship with Luka.

Winter responded by tying her to a chair with rope and taping her mouth shut so she would “stop spreading lies.” Karina spent the rest of the workday glaring while Winter typed furiously at her desk, occasionally shushing her like a librarian enforcing silence.

Despite the teasing, the threats, and the constant verbal warfare, their friendship was unshakable. They had been close since college, surviving deadlines, heartbreaks, all nighters, and life’s worst decisions together. Karina firmly believed they were soulmates for life.

Winter, on the other hand, strongly believed Karina deserved to be hit with a shovel and buried somewhere remote.

But it was love. Deep, ride or die, no questions asked kind of love.

Winter knew every single one of Karina’s secrets, and Karina knew just as many of hers. They had seen each other at their lowest and most unhinged, which meant there was nothing left to hide. They understood each other completely, inside and out.

Which was exactly why Karina felt comfortable saying the one thing she absolutely should not have said next.

“Luka is back next week. I bought two tickets. Wanna watch it with me, Minjeong-ah?”

Winter froze.

Her calendar was already screaming at her. Deadlines stacked on deadlines, edits waiting, articles half-finished and begging to be turned in. Any normal week, she would have said no without hesitation.

This was not a normal week.

It was Luka’s second homecoming. His first game back in Dallas after signing that extension with the Lakers. The thought alone made her chest tighten in a way she refused to acknowledge out loud. She hated that the uniform would be wrong. She hated that the cheers would feel complicated. She hated that the goodbye they never got was now being rewritten on someone else’s terms.

But there was no universe where she missed this.

Winter already knew she would be there, sitting in that arena, watching the man who once belonged to Dallas step onto the court wearing colors she despised. She would clap. She would cry internally. She would pretend she wasn’t emotionally compromised.

What truly fueled her anger, though, was the other thing she knew would happen.

Lakers fans would show up.

They would stroll into the arena like conquerors, draped in purple and gold, proudly parading Luka as if he had always been theirs. As if Dallas had not loved him first. As if seven years of loyalty, sacrifice, and history could be erased with a signature and a jersey swap.

Winter clenched her jaw.

She had deadlines to meet next week.

But she also had a score to settle.

And no amount of professionalism was going to stop her from mentally fighting every Lakers fan she saw.

“Yeah. I’m in.”

Those three words were enough to seal her fate.

From that moment on, Winter locked in. Every deadline she had lined up for the rest of the week and the next was mentally compressed into a brutal three day schedule. She arrived at work, sat down, finished her assignments, and left. No detours. No distractions. No unnecessary human interaction.

Anyone who tried to flirt with her, especially the men, was immediately met with a death stare so cold it made them stutter apologies and retreat on their own. Even coworkers who attempted harmless small talk were shut down with an icy glance that made it very clear she was not in the mood for pleasantries.

Karina, of course, was the only exception.

She showed up at Winter’s desk like clockwork, slid a cup of coffee toward her, and dragged her away for a ten minute break. Karina talked. Winter drank her coffee in silence. It was the only time she allowed herself to breathe.

Karina, notably, had done absolutely nothing to reduce her own workload.

In Winter’s eyes, she was a lazy, stupid cheese cat masquerading as a functioning adult.

And yet, Winter endured her.

True to her word, she finished everything in three days.

Every article. Every edit. Every obligation cleared with ruthless efficiency. Once the last piece was submitted, she requested two rest days the following week to attend the game, plus one additional day for what she vaguely labeled as emotional recovery.

The request was approved without hesitation. No one questioned it. Her work spoke for itself.

Now all that remained was the waiting.

And the inevitable moment she would see Luka Dončić step onto the Dallas court again.

This time, wearing the wrong colors.

And now, back to the present.

A heavy snowstorm swallowed the streets as Winter drove through Dallas, knuckles tight on the steering wheel. Ice clung to the roads, streetlights blurred behind sheets of falling snow, and the city felt wrapped in cold silence. In the passenger seat, Karina lived her best life as a full-time passenger princess, bundled up in so many layers she barely resembled a human anymore.

By the time Winter found a parking spot near the arena, Karina looked like a sentient pile of coats.

Winter killed the engine, stepped out, and immediately reached back into the car to drag Karina out of her seat.

“Move,” she grunted.

Karina waddled out, struggling under what appeared to be at least five separate clothing items. She looked twice her size, arms stiff at her sides.

Winter groaned. “You need to take some of that off.”

Karina froze, eyes wide with panic. “What? I can’t be naked!”

Winter stared at her.

Then she facepalmed so hard it echoed.

“Are you dumb? I never said go naked.”

“You said strip,” Karina accused. “Pervert, Winter.”

“Oh my fucking God, you’re dumb.”

Karina gasped dramatically. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“How can you prove it?”

Karina struck her usual smug thinking pose, finger on her chin, lips pursed in fake contemplation.

Winter didn’t answer. She simply wrapped an arm around Karina’s neck and lightly choked her out.

Karina let out a high pitched squeal before immediately bursting into laughter, clinging to Winter as they both stumbled in the snow. Winter released her, glaring down at her best friend’s annoyingly amused face.

Karina just grinned wider.

Winter sighed.

She was surrounded by snow, Lakers fans were imminent, and somehow this idiot was still her emotional support human.

And the night hadn’t even started yet.

When they finally entered the arena, it was a sea of Luka jerseys, fifty-fifty split between Dallas blue and white and Lakers purple and gold. The energy was electric, but all Winter felt was a bittersweet ache. Luka was here, sure, but not for them anymore. He wore the wrong colors, cheered by the wrong fans, and every familiar echo in the arena only reminded her of what had been taken.

She was about to take a deep breath, brace herself, and stop the tears before they came. And then she heard it. Words that sounded like blasphemy in the sacred halls of the Mavericks.

“Man, Luka sure loves LA, man. Beaches, sunshine… Texas is cold as shit anyway. Not only that, he’s playing for the Lakers. Our Lakers! How cool is that?”

Each word struck her like a personal attack. She muttered a silent mantra under her breath: Do not start a fight. Do not start a fight. Do not start a fight.

But every time you paired “Lakers” and “Luka” in the same sentence, the mantra cracked a little more. Her fists clenched. Her jaw tightened.

And then came the final straw.

“…and man, Luka’s next in line after LeBron. He’s gonna be the GOAT soon!”

Winter snapped. She spun toward you, scowling so hard Karina’s mouth fell shut instantly.

“LeBron is not the GOAT when he couldn’t even beat my Mavericks in his prime,” she barked, voice dripping with righteous fury.

The arena seemed to quiet just for a second, Karina sheepishly shrinking in place beside her, and you got caught off guard, raised a single eyebrow in amused confusion.

Winter’s glare could have frozen over the entire arena. But from your perspective, all you saw was a small Korean gremlin convinced she could take on the world. You guessed correctly that some basketball opinions were sacred enough to break lesser mortals but you hoped she wasn’t that extreme.

“Look, miss,” you said, trying to stay calm. “Believe it or not, the GOAT is LeBron. And I don’t know why you’re so pressed about my opinion, like I’m not allowed to say what I think.”

Winter took a deep breath, ready to unleash a verbal hurricane.

“You’re all the same. Ungrateful, spoiled brats of the league. The Lakers always think they’re the face of basketball when—”

“How many banners do the Mavs have?”

The question hit like a missile. Winter froze for a second, caught off guard. Karina immediately went into mental panic mode, trying to figure out if she should intervene.

“Many more than you could sniff in your lifetime,” Winter snapped, her voice sharp as ice.

“Funny,” you countered, smirking. “Because I’ve witnessed the two-peat of Kobe and Gasol, along with your Dirk-led runs. Not to mention the 2020 championship. So that makes it three to one. Even if you want to discount the bubble chip, my team still has more banners than yours.”

“You piece of—”

Before Winter could finish, Karina slapped a hand over her mouth, apologizing profusely, and yanked her away from you and your equally smug Lakers buddy.

You shook your head, letting them go, and walked away, silently impressed and mildly terrified at the same time.

“Dude, you’re crazy defending the Lakers like that,” your friend said, shaking his head.

You just shrugged. It wasn’t worth explaining. Everyone hated the Lakers, because they were the Lakers. Think about it: the NBA had plenty of great players, but the Lakers? They were iconic. History dripping from every corner of the franchise. Hall of Famers stacked like skyscrapers. Eighteen banners and counting. Everyone knew the brand, everyone had an opinion, and most of them were negative.

Meanwhile, Winter was fuming. She and Karina finally made it to their designated seats, Winter muttering Korean slurs under her breath while Karina desperately tried to calm her down. She really, and I mean really, hated the Lakers and their fanbase. So much so that she was willing to end someone’s life for free if she ever discovered they were a die-hard fan.

“That guy is an asshole,” Winter hissed. “I hope he doesn’t get a girlfriend. A freaking loser virgin.”

“Ugh, not to be a party pooper,” Karina said casually, “but you’re also a virgin, Minjeong. No boyfriend since birth.”

“Unnie!” Winter barked, her eyes practically shooting lasers.

Karina just shrugged, smug as ever. Winter groaned, burying her face in her hands. It wasn’t like she needed a boyfriend anyway. Ball was life. As long as the Mavericks won a championship in her lifetime, everything else would work itself out. She’d rather be a cat lady than deal with a manchild who needed high maintenance in a relationship. She wasn’t picky, but she had standards. Standards she upheld ruthlessly for herself.

Karina nudged her lightly. “Focus, Minjeong. Game time. Save the rage for the court.”

Winter peeked over her hands, glaring at the sea of purple and gold in the arena. When Luka Dončić was announced, the crowd erupted. Of course they did, this was his second homecoming before moving to the big city of Los Angeles.

Winter felt bittersweet seeing Luka again, wearing a different jersey. It hurt, sure, but at least he wasn’t crying this time. Instead, he smiled, calm and confident, like he had already accepted this new chapter of his life.

When the buzzer sounded and the first possession started, Winter cheered as Luka sank his opening basket. But her cheer was abruptly cut off by a voice beside her, annoyingly loud and carefree.

“Yeah! Luka! Show Copper you’re way better than him!”

Winter froze.

What the fuck? Are you a stalker too?

She turned toward the source of the voice. And there you were.

“What the hell? Why are you here?” she demanded.

“Duh! I bought tickets. Are you dumb?” you replied, casually, as if this explained everything.

“Says the one-ring merchant,” Winter shot back, her tone dripping with disbelief.

Middle fingers were exchanged with perfect timing, the mutual disdain practically vibrating in the air.

It was obvious: they hated each other at first sight. Some people fall in love at first sight. Winter and you? Hate at first sight. Or maybe, just maybe, it would evolve… fade at first sight? Who could say.

Throughout the entire game, you and Winter argued like you had known each other for years. In reality, you had just met. You were simply complete opposites.

You went back and forth over missed calls, soft fouls, and no-calls, trash‑talking each other every time your team scored. To everyone around you, it looked almost… domestic. A few people nearby even smiled, amused by the sight of the two of you bickering nonstop like an old couple.

What surprised you was that Winter actually knew ball.

She wasn’t the type to scream “foul” at every body bump. She knew the rules. She understood positioning, timing, and defensive schemes. Half the time, your arguments turned into actual debates instead of pointless shouting, which caught you off guard.

And it surprised Winter too.

She had fully expected you to be a spoiled Lakers fan who knew nothing beyond highlights and banners. But instead, you pointed out Dallas’s late rotations, questionable coaching decisions, and the Mavericks’ weak points just as easily as their strengths. You weren’t brain-dead. You had logic. Facts.

It was annoying.

By the end of the game, the Mavericks collapsed late in the fourth quarter, and the Lakers pulled away with the win. You and your friend high‑fived, celebrating the victory. When you turned toward Winter, ready to boast, you froze.

She was pouting.

A cute pout. One that somehow fit her height perfectly.

You couldn’t help it. A small smile tugged at your lips.

Winter took a deep breath, her pout fading into a reluctant, mildly amused expression. “Fine,” she muttered. “Your team was better tonight. Tsk.”

She was still bitter, obviously. But you caught that crack in her defenses and decided to push your luck.

“Aww,” you cooed. “Look at you warming up to me.”

Winter immediately glared and flicked you off.

“I hope you die in the snow.”

She grabbed her coat and stormed off so fast she didn’t even realize she left Karina behind, forcing her to scramble out of her seat and chase after her. But you stopped Winter in her footsteps when you said “I’m Y/N. What's your name?”

Winter just flicked you off and went on her way.

As Winter marched through the arena, she frowned to herself. Because for some reason, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

She had actually enjoyed arguing with you.

The realization unsettled her.

It was weird. Really weird.

And yet, as she stepped into the cold night air, a small smile betrayed her thoughts.

And those thoughts didn’t fade after one day. No, she was wrong to think it would. During her two-day leave from work, she found herself replaying the encounter over and over. How you had countered her arguments with logic, how you had respected some of her calls, even if begrudgingly and how, in some twisted way, you had validated her opinions.

It shouldn’t have mattered. And yet it did.

You were just a guy who happened to know basketball as well as she did, biased toward your own team, yes, but still able to see the game clearly. You loved some players, hated others, argued passionately, and didn’t hide behind hot takes or Twitter rants. In a strange way, you reminded her of herself. The fierce defender of the Mavericks and Luka, the one who couldn’t stand foolish claims or ignorant arguments.

Her leave days disappeared faster than she wanted. Before she knew it, she was back at the office, typing away on Mavericks-related articles, her usual rhythm restored. But today felt… different.

Her boss called her into his office, a first. Usually, he just came to her workspace and handed her a task. Curious, she stepped inside.

And froze.

Because sitting there, in all his smug glory, was you.

“Winter, meet Y/N,” her boss said cheerfully. “He’ll be working under you on an article about the Luka trade anniversary.”

Winter blinked. Blinked again. Blinked a third time, just to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

“You? Sir… why him?” she asked frantically, unable to mask her disbelief.

Her boss just shrugged.

“He’s an ESPN reporter for the Lakers. And, seeing as you two already know each other… great. Dismissed. You two can leave my office now.”

Winter’s brain short-circuited. Her mind raced. Her hands itched for a keyboard, a pen, or… something. Anything to cope with this absurdity.

You, of course, leaned back in the chair, that infuriating smug grin firmly in place.

The moment you two stepped out of the office, Winter’s glare could have melted steel.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she snapped.

“Didn’t your boss hear you?” you replied smoothly. “I’m here to write a story for ESPN about the one-year anniversary of the Luka trade. You know how this goes.”

As Winter processed your words, realization hit her like a rogue basketball to the face. You were a journalist just like her. And suddenly, everything she’d thought about you during the game, the logical counterpoints, the respect for her calls, was creeping uncomfortably close to her own reflection.

No. Surely Cupid wasn’t involved, right? Right?

“Anyway, whatever. First rule: you stay forty-eight inches away from me at my workstation. Second: you call me Minjeong. Third: don’t act like we know each other. I still hate you.”

Winter set the tone early, making sure her steel-cold message was clear: she hated you. Nothing else.

“Forty-eight inches?” you asked with mock curiosity. “Did you bring a tape measure, Minjeong, or should I just use my ‘villainous intuition’ to eyeball it? Also, ‘not acting like we know each other’ is going to be hard… seeing as you keep making it painfully obvious you’re thinking about me.”

Your grin, that annoying, overconfident Lakers-fan grin, appeared at the end of your sentence.

Winter froze. Not because of your words. Not because of the smugness. But because… her cheeks felt hot.

Why? Why is this idiot making her steel wall evaporate just by being so… confident?

“Well? You leading me to our workspace or not, Minjeong?” you asked, popping her bubble of thought.

She gulped, cheeks still tingling, before slapping on a mask of annoyance, trying her hardest to hide the blush.

“Tsk! Follow me, jerk,” she muttered, stomping ahead with purpose, clearly pretending this whole interaction didn’t just fluster her more than she wanted to admit.

Her work area was clean and spacious, no wonder her boss assigned her to you.

The moment she sat down, Winter’s hands were already on her keyboard, fingers flying across the keys as she locked into her work. You opened your laptop, bored out of your mind, already having reviewed the ghost of the entire Luka trade in your head. Yet, somehow, your eyes kept drifting to her.

The way she focused, the intensity in her posture, the slight furrow of her brow… it was making you fall.

By the time lunch approached, you noticed something. Winter didn’t even twitch in excitement at the thought of leaving her desk. She was locked in. Or so she thought.

Because while she tried to ignore everyone, her eyes kept flicking to you, inexplicably. Normally, she ignored coworkers, even ones standing a foot away, but you? You were impossible to ignore.

And then came the flirtation, the annoying, infuriating, utterly distracting flirtation.

Blake, her coworker who never took a hint, approached her workspace.

“Hey, Min—”

“Busy. Disturb me next time,” Winter cut him off sharply.

Blake sighed like he hadn’t expected that answer. “Come on, Minjeong. This is the seventh time you’ve said ‘next time.’”

“Then make it the eighth,” she replied, smirking coldly.

Blake opened his mouth again, but you were faster. You stood up, looping an arm around him like he was your best friend.

“Hey man,” you said, grinning. “Since you look like a veteran here, can you show this ESPN journalist where the coffee machine is? I’d love to have you as my company.”

The moment you said ESPN, Blake gulped, immediately aware how much a single article could make him disappear. He nodded obediently and guided you away from Winter.

As your footsteps faded, Winter turned her gaze to your back. A small smile tugged at her lips.

The way you’d called Blake an “old worker” because of his retro attire, it was an inside joke in the company, but the way you’d done it with wit and confidence, dragging the nuisance away from her, made her feel… amused.

“Idiot…” she muttered softly under her breath, barely realizing she’d smiled. When you returned after an hour break of lunch, Winter wasted no time arguing with you.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know. Didn’t I explicitly say we don’t know each other?”

Her tone was cold, serious, but there was a sharp edge to it.

You just shrugged. “I don’t think I broke that rule. In fact, I did it to get my coffee around here.”

“Liar,” Winter accused, narrowing her eyes.

You smirked, sensing an opening, a side of her she hadn’t shown yet.

“Liar? Maybe. But at least I’m honest about wanting coffee. You’re the one struggling to keep your eyes on your work… and off the ‘stranger’ in the corner.”

Winter’s eyes widened. Caught? Was she too obvious, glancing at you while you weren’t looking? Panic crept across her face, turning her expression into genuine horror. You chuckled softly.

“Aww man, you’re way too easy to tease, Winter.”

Her thought process immediately shifted into attack mode. “You jerk—”

But her hand moved too slowly. Even your grandma could have caught it. You did, and gently pulled her toward you, her rolling chair dragging her closer as she tried to fight it.

“You’re close. Remember the first rule?”

Winter’s cheeks blazed red, her face heating up like she’d just walked into a furnace. She should have shoved you, spat on your smug face, but instead, she froze, caught in the gaze of your brown hazel eyes that somehow framed her perfectly.

“I… hate you,” she muttered.

But this time, there was no heat in her words. No fight. No fire. It was almost… resigned.

You let go of her hand, ready to claim victory, when suddenly Winter yanked her chair back at the last second. You toppled to the floor with a soft thud as she giggled, looking down at you triumphantly.

“Oops… my fault,” she said, that victorious smirk lighting up her face.

You sat up, brushing off the fall, and couldn’t help but grin back.

For the past two weeks, you and Winter worked side by side to finish the ESPN article, and somehow, it became a battlefield of banter. Mostly instigated by you.

You took every chance to tease her, just to watch her reactions. She would get flustered, cheeks heating up, clearly annoyed, trying her hardest to get back at you. And every time she failed, she’d pout without realizing how adorable she looked doing it. Your conscience never survived those moments. You always ended up buying her chocolate drinks as compensation.

What you didn’t realize was how everyone else saw the two of you.

From your perspective, it was just two journalists clashing egos, trying to outwit each other. But to the people around you? It looked nothing like that. The cold, intimidating Minjeong Kim was laughing. Smiling. Relaxed. With a man who had shown up just two weeks ago and somehow made everyone else look foolish for ever thinking they had a chance with her.

It was shocking. Especially to Karina.

One afternoon, on a shared day off, Winter found herself sitting at a café with Karina. It was supposed to be casual, just friends hanging out, but Winter ended up talking. A lot. Every story she told about you sounded like complaints, insults, little victories. Yet her smile never faded as she recalled them.

Karina noticed.

“You look brighter when you talk about him, Winter,” she said gently. “I’m happy for you.”

Winter scoffed, rolling her eyes. “What are you talking about? I’m not brighter than a lamp.”

Karina smiled softly. “I don’t think so. Before, you always looked bored. Unapproachable. Like you were just dragging yourself through the day. You seemed miserable back then. But now? You laugh more. You actually look like you’re having fun. I’m glad.”

Winter sighed and looked away, pretending not to care. But deep down, she knew Karina was right. Ever since you entered her life, work didn’t feel as heavy. She caught herself looking forward to your first comment of the day, your stupid remarks about her hair or what she was wearing.

“I just hope that smile doesn’t disappear when he leaves in three days.”

Karina said it so casually, like she hadn’t just dropped something explosive.

Winter froze in her seat. “What?”

“Oh. You didn’t know?” Karina blinked. “He said he’s leaving in three days.”

Winter felt her chest tighten.

How did she not know? You worked together. Sat beside each other. Spent nearly every day together. And yet, you were leaving, and she had no idea.

Was she really that insignificant to you? Just someone temporary. Someone who mistook banter for something more.

Maybe this was how it was supposed to be. She should be relieved. Happy, even. The most annoying thorn in her life would finally be gone.

But she wasn’t.

It hurt.

It hurt like hell.

The change was immediate. The moment you stepped into the office the next morning, something felt… off.

Winter didn’t greet you with a sharp remark. No sarcastic jab. No comment about your jacket or the way you walked like you owned the place. She didn’t even glance at you.

She was already seated, eyes locked onto her screen, fingers moving fast across the keyboard. Focused. Too focused.

“Morning, Winter,” you said casually, dropping your bag onto your chair. “You look like you’re about to fight your laptop.”

No response.

You frowned slightly and leaned closer, just enough to invade her precious forty-eight-inch rule. “Wow. Silent treatment? That’s new.”

Still nothing.

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t look at you. She simply shifted her chair an inch farther away, creating distance without saying a word.

That was when it hit you.

This wasn’t her usual annoyed act. This wasn’t banter.

Something was wrong.

You tried again later, during a break in typing. “Did I do something, or is this part of a new workplace strategy where you pretend I don’t exist?”

Winter finally spoke.

“Please don’t talk to me while I’m working.”

Her voice was calm. Flat. Professional.

It stung more than if she’d snapped at you.

You straightened, taken aback. “Since when?”

“Since always,” she replied, eyes still on her screen. “I just didn’t enforce it properly before.”

Before.

That word sat heavy in your chest.

Lunch came and went. Normally, you’d find an excuse to drag her out, complain about the food downstairs, or bribe her with chocolate drinks. Today, she didn’t move from her seat. When you stood, she didn’t look up. When you came back, she was already typing again.

It felt like you were sitting beside a stranger.

Over the next two days, it only got worse.

No teasing. No rolling eyes. No blushing when you leaned too close. If you spoke, she answered in short, clipped sentences. Strictly work-related. Nothing more.

You caught her staring at you once. Just once.

But the moment your eyes met, she looked away like she’d been burned.

That night, you found yourself rereading your half-finished section of the article and realizing you hadn’t written a single new word in twenty minutes.

You weren’t distracted by the work.

You were distracted by her.

By the space she put between you. By the way she laughed with everyone else except you. By the fact that three days felt suddenly, terrifyingly short.

And across the room, Winter stared at her screen, pretending the words weren’t blurring together.

Pretending she didn’t feel the same ache every time you spoke to someone else.

Pretending it didn’t hurt knowing you were leaving.

And pretending she didn’t want to ask you why you never told her.

As the third day arrived, Winter felt more miserable than ever. Was this really how it ended? Was everything that happened over the past two weeks meant to amount to nothing? Two weeks sounded so small, so insignificant, hardly enough time to fall in love with someone.

…Fall in love?

The thought stopped her cold.

Love?

Was she in love?

The realization hit her harder than any argument ever could. That was why it hurt so much. That was why the idea of you leaving felt unbearable. She tried to convince herself she hadn’t had enough time, that two weeks weren’t enough for something like love—but she was wrong. She didn’t need more time. She had already fallen.

In those two weeks, you gave her something she hadn’t truly felt since Luka left. Happiness. Real, unexpected happiness. She thought basketball would be enough to fill that space, that love would always come from the game. She never expected it to come from the one person she swore she hated. A quiet, bitter chuckle left her lips as she realized the truth.

She was the idiot. Not you.

Winter glanced at the clock, her breath catching. If she hurried, if she was early enough, maybe she could still see you. You still had things at her work area, didn’t you? Without thinking twice, she grabbed her coat and ran.

She didn’t care about the cold, or the snow biting at her skin, or the way her lungs burned as she sprinted through the streets. All she cared about was seeing you. Just once.

By the time she reached the office, she was gasping for breath, dizziness creeping in, but she forced herself forward anyway. She rushed to her work area first.

Your desk was clean.

Too clean.

No laptop. No notes. No trace that you were ever there.

“No… no, please…” her voice broke as she rushed to her own desk, papers scattering everywhere as she searched desperately for anything, anything that proved you hadn’t left yet.

There was nothing.

She was too late.

The realization shattered her. The pain was sharper than when Luka left, because this time, she had a choice. And she chose wrong. Warm tears blurred her vision as she walked out of the office, her coworkers frozen in place, unsure whether to comfort her or keep their distance.

Winter didn’t notice them.

She walked away like a ghost, heart broken beyond repair.

That was until—

“Damn, that’s the last time I’m taking a public bus to Houston. Four hours of sitting is actual torture… huh?”

Your voice cut through the cold like a crack of thunder.

“Oh? Winter? You’re early today. Didn’t you have an off day?”

You stepped down from the bus, stretching your legs, completely unaware that Winter stood frozen in front of you, eyes wide, face pale, heart pounding so loudly she was sure you could hear it.

Her lips parted, no sound coming out at first. Slowly, as if afraid you might disappear, she walked toward you and grabbed your arms, fingers curling into your jacket like an anchor.

“You… you didn’t leave?” her voice trembled.

“I did,” you replied casually. “Last night. Went to Houston to return my friend’s stuff.”

Her grip tightened.

“B–but… your things. Your desk was empty.”

“Oh, that?” you laughed softly. “Those weren’t mine. I just borrowed his laptop and notes. He needed them back, so I went to return everything. Worst decision of my life though. Bus rides are hell.”

Winter blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then her eyes filled with tears.

You were still here.

You hadn’t left her.

She wasn’t too late.

A shaky laugh escaped her as she wiped her tears away and then, without warning, she started punching your shoulder.

“What the—hey!” you laughed, raising your arms defensively.

“I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!” she cried, hitting you again and again, not even putting real force behind it.

You caught both her wrists easily, holding them in place, confusion written all over your face.

“For two days you acted like I didn’t exist, and now you’re crying and assaulting me. Can you at least explain what’s going on—”

You didn’t get to finish.

Winter grabbed your jacket, pulled you down to her height, and kissed you.

Hard.

All the fear, relief, frustration, and longing she’d bottled up poured into that single moment. Your eyes widened in shock, but only for a second before you kissed her back, instinctively, naturally like this was always where things were headed.

When she finally pulled away, she looked up at you with flushed cheeks and a confident smirk that mirrored your own.

“Is that enough of an explanation, baby?”

Yeah.

That explained everything.

“I… I guess.”

Winter giggled and clung to you, burying her face into your chest. This wasn’t just Winter anymore, this was your Winter Kim, sniffing your scent like an obsessed menace, and somehow you loved every second of it.

“I love you, Y/N,” she murmured. “Don’t ever leave me, okay?”

You chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her forehead.

“I won’t, Winter. I’m not going anywhere.”

Her smile bloomed instantly, bright and warm, so different from the girl who once nearly committed a felony over someone not calling LeBron the GOAT.

Then she looked up at you with the most innocent expression imaginable.

“Let’s go kill Karina, baby!”

…Excuse you?

You froze mid-step. Your brain needed a full system reboot. Did your girlfriend, your newly confessed, very adorable girlfriend just casually suggest murder with a smile that could pass for a toothpaste commercial?

“Oh,” you thought. She’s crazy.

Like… crazy crazy.

But you loved her. Just, not the homicide part.

“Wait, Winter, what do you mean by—”

“Let’s go!” she giggled, already hopping away like she hadn’t just announced a felony.

You hurried after her, grabbing her hand before she could get too far, immediately launching into a very serious explanation about how executing Karina was, in fact, not worth it. The two of you argued under the falling snow, her insisting Karina deserved it, you insisting prison was not part of the romance package.

But none of that really mattered.

Because you were laughing.

She was smiling.

And you were in love.

Nothing was separating you now.

Meanwhile, in an apartment somewhere in Dallas—

“ACHOO!”

Karina sneezed loudly, rubbing her nose in confusion.

“Huh. Weird.”

She sniffed, then shrugged.

“Oh yeah… did I forget to tell Winter that Y/N was only going to Houston for a bit before coming back?”

She paused for half a second.