She fumbled for her bag. "Fine," she said. "Let's see how long she lasts in your world."
Her heels echoed on the marble floor. The door clicked shut behind her.
Silence.
Seo Jun sat down slowly on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees. His hand reached instinctively for his phone. No text from Ha-eun yet. Just her smile, frozen mid-laugh in a frame from their call.
He touched her name on the screen.
"You don't belong in my world," he whispered, "but it's the only world I want if you're in it."
He leaned back, eyes on the ceiling, lights glowing dim above him.
The storm had only just begun.
——
"No, you didn't."
Rina's spoon froze midair, disbelief written all over her face. Her eyes were wide, fixed on Ha-eun, who sat across from her at the campus cafeteria table, silently shredding her napkin instead of eating.
"I did," Ha-eun mumbled, eyes downcast.
Rina leaned in, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "Wait—you told Seo Jun you just wanted to be friends? Are you kidding me? When—how—did this even happen?"
Ha-eun's voice was barely audible. "At his grandmother's house. At the garden."
Rina stared. "The estate in Yangpyeong? You were alone with him there—and that's when you decided to friendzone Korea's most unattainable man?"
"It wasn't planned," Ha-eun said quickly. "I panicked. Everything was moving too fast. One minute we were talking about flowers and silence, and then he looked at me like I... mattered. I didn't know what to do, so I said the safest thing I could think of."
Rina dropped her spoon with a clatter. "God. You're hopeless."
A wave of laughter burst from a nearby table. Ha-eun could feel the attention shift, students whispering behind cups and phones, others not bothering to hide their stares.
And then came the perfume.
Expensive. Overpowering.
A tall girl with curled brown hair and drama-perfect proportions glided into view. She bypassed her usual clique and walked straight toward Ha-eun's table, her tray in hand, expression unreadable.
She sat down beside Ha-eun without invitation, cracking open a soda.
"Can we help you?" Rina asked coolly.
"I just wanted to ask a question," the girl said, her smile sweet but soulless. "Is it true? Are you really seeing Seo Jun?"
Ha-eun went still. Every eye in the cafeteria seemed to lock on her.
"I'm a huge fan," the girl went on. "I was there for the Japan tour, I own every fanlight. I just... never imagined he'd go for someone like you. Surprising, right?"
Ha-eun opened her mouth, but Rina was faster.
"Sorry, didn't realize this was a press conference," she said, folding her arms. "And no—it hasn't 'gotten to that,' whatever that means. So maybe try being normal."
The girl blinked, stunned by the pushback. Then she rose with a dramatic hair flip.
"Wow. Some people don't know how lucky they are. I'd kill to be in your place."
And then she was gone, leaving a sharp silence in her wake.
"You okay?" Rina asked.
Before Ha-eun could respond, her phone buzzed.
A message from an unsaved number.
But she knew who it was.
Seo Jun:
Do you want to see my studio?
Her breath caught.
Another text came a second later:
Seo Jun:
Should I come pick you up tonight?
"Is that him?" Rina whispered.
Ha-eun nodded slowly, pink rising to her cheeks.
She typed. Paused. Erased.
Then typed again.
Ha-eun:
Yes.
———
Later that day, after her last class, Ha-eun gathered her books from the art class. The room smelled of chalk dust and disinfectant, cold with overworked air conditioning. As she turned to leave, a hand caught her wrist.
A girl, petite, pale, tears brimming in her eyes.
"Please," she whispered. "Tell me it's not true. That you're not going out with Seo Jun. That it's just gossip."
Her voice cracked. Her fingers let go.
The teacher entered, calling for quiet. The girl rushed to her seat, wiping her face, trying to erase the moment.
Ha-eun sat down slowly, heart pounding.
She'd thought she could handle the whispers.
But this was something else.
They weren't just curious.
They were devastated.
——-
That night, she stood at the edge of the sidewalk, jacket pulled tight. The breeze carried the hum of the city, traffic, footsteps, distant laughter.
Then the car appeared.
Black. Sleek. Silent.
Seo Jun stepped out, no mask this time. Just a long coat, a cap, and that quietly disarming expression. His eyes softened when he saw her.
He opened the door.
"Ready?"
She nodded.
He didn't ask about the cafeteria. Or the lab. Or if she regretted anything.
He just reached across the seat at a red light and took her hand, thumb brushing her wrist.
"I've been writing," he said softly. "But it doesn't feel finished unless you're there."
***********
Ha-eun had never seen anything like this.
The studio wasn't anything like the generic rehearsal rooms she'd imagined from variety shows or online posts. It was cinematic. Sleek black walls were lined with acoustic panels, and the warm glow of amber lights spilled across polished wood floors. One entire side of the room was glass, revealing the twinkling Seoul skyline like a backdrop from a dream.
In the center stood a marble-topped island, scattered with glowing monitors and state-of-the-art mixing consoles. Lines of sound danced across the screens in delicate waves. To her left, a glass cabinet displayed awards, Golden Discs, Billboard plaques, framed Rolling Stone covers, each engraved with the same name: Seo Jun.
And there he was.
Not the global icon. Not the idol screamed for by millions.
Just the boy who, lately, made her heart stumble with the simplest glance.
"Sit here," he said, guiding her gently to the leather swivel chair near the booth. His voice was lower tonight. Unrushed. The kind of voice people used when everything else had finally gone quiet.
"I just need to finish this one part," he added, a teasing smile at his lips. "But I want to watch you while I do."
Her face flushed instantly. She looked down, fingers knotting in her lap, her shoes tapping nervously against the floor.
Seo Jun slipped into the booth, headphones on, mic live. The track began, soft at first, like an exhale, then layered slowly with strings and warm synths. The sound bloomed into something full of yearning.
Then he sang.
Not loud. Not showy. Just honest.
His voice carried something intimate, like a message never meant to be overheard. Ha-eun watched him through the glass, her breath catching with each note. The lyrics unfolded gently, like confession:
Missing someone before they leave. Wishing time would slow down. Fearing the silence after someone walks away.
Each line felt like a page torn from her diary.
No, their diary.
When he finished, he pulled off the headphones and stepped out. His expression unreadable.
"Sorry," he said, brushing a hand through his hair. "That wasn't perfect."
"It was," she said, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Their eyes met.
The moment held, suspended, fragile, full of something unsaid.
———
Later, in the car, the silence between them wasn't awkward.
It was charged. Heavy with everything neither of them dared to say.
Seo Jun kept one hand steady on the wheel, though his gaze flicked toward her as they reached her house gate.
"I was going to say hello to your parents," he offered casually.
Ha-eun shook her head, hugging her bag to her chest. "Not yet. It's too soon."
He nodded. No argument. No pressure. But as she reached for the door handle, his voice caught her.
"Ha-eun."
She turned.
"You're the only person who feels real."
The car was dim, lit only by the wash of streetlights and the distant flicker of stars, but his eyes still found hers. Steady. Certain. Honest.
He reached up, hesitating for the briefest moment.
Every nerve in her body flared.
But instead of kissing her lips, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, soft, lingering.
A kiss that wasn't about taking, but about waiting. About meaning something.
When he pulled back, his voice was quiet.
"I wanted to kiss you," he admitted. "But I don't want to rush something neither of us fully understands yet."