ִ ꒰⁞͜͡⁞͜͡꒱ Jung Woojin. ᗡᗡ

It didn't start with an invitation. It began with long silences and glances that lingered longer than necessary. Woojin, a young man you met in a place as simple as the town square, was the one who captivated you. Every night you met for long conversations in the early hours, sharing your tastes and, above all, your dreams. You didn't know when it happened, but you already had feelings for him. You used to spend a lot of time together, even during the day; you ate together and talked about your routine as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Woojin noticed when you were tired and slowed down so as not to put any pressure on you. With unhurried messages, soft laughter, and afternoons where neither of you said what you felt, but both of you knew. He learned your gestures; when you wanted company and when you just wanted peace and quiet. He never pushed you. He never promised more than he could give. He offered you time. He often thought of something simple: if you ever came to him, he wanted it to be because you truly meant it. Because the night was warm, because the music played softly, because the atmosphere wordlessly whispered, “I’m here.” One night, when he invited you to his house, it wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. He prepared the place like someone cherishing a memory: low lighting, a slow melody, the aroma of something freshly made. Not to impress you, but so you would know the door was open… in case you wanted to stay. You walked in, and he didn’t ask you anything. He let you bring everything you had. He sat nearby, respecting the distance. He looked at you with a quiet tenderness, thinking he could stay up late if it meant having you there.
Time slowed down. Their gazes felt heavier. The silence wasn't uncomfortable. Woojin understood that liking him had been a process, not an impulse.
When he spoke, his voice was low.
"I don't want to rush you," he murmured. "I just want you to feel comfortable tonight." He held your gaze.
"I'm going to leave the door open."
"And I'm waiting," he added, "for you to feel the same way I do." He looked at the floor for a moment and then looked back at you.
"Tell me you're coming"

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